Chuck vs The Promise
by Armadilloi
Summary: Read by 2/28. It will be deleted.
1. Prologue

A/N: I don't own Chuck, if I did things would be different.

Trying to develop some Charah sympathies. Still working on it. No Betas so FUBARS are all mine.

To the MasterTomeWriter & NickyR.

* * *

**Prologue**

He heard the shrill of the alarm and opened his eyes and looked toward the clockradio on the nightstand. It was the "wake up – wake up" alarm and he couldn't reach it because he was currently in the sleeping embrace of the thirty-something sexual athlete he'd married 3 months ago.

Not that he was complaining. Oh, no! It was just that she said she slept better when as much of her bare skin was in touch with an equal or greater amount of his as possible. And that always led to, well, the naked pretzel, the horizontal mambo, hiding the salami, all those locker room descriptions of what happened. Love making. He was in love with his wife. No other, ever, never. He knew when he had a good thing. No, a _great_ thing.

He didn't think he'd slept through the night one single time since his two Las Vegas weddings. After a successful mission taking out a Las Vegas cell of Fulcrum Agents who laundered drug money for a cartel and provided a source of funds for Fulcrum, one thing led to another and they got married. Twice.

_He wanted a family affair, she said she needed only him and the Justice of the Peace. She knew that marrying an asset was always a long-range possibility but not for this asset. This asset had an expiration date. She intended to make sure that date never arrived, no matter what the cost. _

S_arah also demanded, in no uncertain terms, that once they were married in the eyes of man, they must also be married in the eyes of God. So after the JP made it legal, Sarah dragged Chuck to St. Titus Roman Catholic Church, found an old priest who listened to her request and smiled and agreed to marry them. Few of his parishioners were so devout or so young._

_It wasn't so much that she was devout,though she was, rather it was that she had always dreamed of a church wedding and having God's blessing in their lives seemed a necessity._

But he still couldn't reach the damned alarm.

"Sar…mmph" Whatever he intended to say was squelched quite effectively by a pair of warm lips that tasted like sunshine. 'How does she escape morning breath?' He pushed her off him, missing her warmth immediately, and reached over and hit the snooze button. It was Sunday and Ellie and Devon were taking a long weekend and just driving around Napa. Knowing Devon, they'd bring back another layer of bottles for their future 'cellar'.

Hmmm, Sunday morning, alone in the apartment, Sarah, shower sex, life was perfect. He decided that from that moment on he would be happy with whatever life sent his way. He was truly happy and for Chuck Bartowski, that was enough.

His phone trilled and he looked at the caller ID. Casey. Casey calling on a Sunday morning? Not good. He never called, not when he could just stroll across the atrium, past the fountain and down between the two complexes and bang on his window. Casey would rather do the physical than use the phone.

"Hey, Casey, what's up?"

"Sorry to interrupt, but Walker is needed over here for a conference with the General." Actually, Casey _was_ sorry. In the two years he'd been assigned as babysitter to the Nerd cum Intersect he'd formed a measure of affection and respect for Bartowski. He was a reluctant patriot but he'd never once shirked his duty to his country or asked for more than he already had from a government that would have no compunction immuring him for life underground or, given current budget cuts, killing him as a more cost-effective measure.

That made John Casey's immediate assignment change especially difficult and distasteful. In fact it made it a despicable but necessary action for the damned Greater Good.

"Ok, Casey, we'll be there in a few minutes."

"Actually, it's just Walker, Bartowski, not you. Apparently the intersect has the day off. Enjoy your free time. Go play a girly game or something equally nerdy and unmanly."

"Saaaaarah" he crooned in her ear. He loved her ears. Perfect for nibbling, ideal for whispering sweet nothings into, and they tasted delicious.

"Go 'way. It's Sunday and we're both off. Come, back to sleep. C'mere, I need my cuddling time, my slow wake-up and see my love time."

She looked fantastic and sexy and still had the sleepy look he'd always loved from the cover-sleepover thing before they were married. Those first few waking minutes with her were now precious memories to him. But he had a new memory every morning.

"Beckman needs you over at Casey's, right now. The faster you get it over with, the faster you'll be back. I'm not going anywhere, love, I'll wait right here for you until you come back. No matter how long it takes."

"Just me? Not the intersect? What's up with that, Chuck? Any idea?"

"Nope, Casey just said the intersect had the day off and you were needed."

"Ok, just promise to wait for me, Chuck. I'll be back, baby, and we'll pick this up right where we left off." One soul-searing kiss later and she was up, showered and out the door.

The next time he saw his wife she would see a stranger.

End Prologue


	2. We Didn't Start The Fire

_A/N: This is totally AU. Any references to any __**Chuck **__episodes are purely coincidental. I don't do Betas. I write it, not them. You don't get a Beta to read it for you, do you? _

_**Warning: Character torture. **If reality bothers you, go watch a sitcom on TV. Or watch CNN, not much difference._

_I don't own them. I use them. If you see a character not on the show it's mine. You can play with them but put them back when you're done with them._

_

* * *

  
_

_He was in love with his wife. _

…_she had always dreamed of a church wedding and having God's blessing in their lives seemed a necessity._

_The next time he saw his wife she would see a stranger._

_

* * *

  
_

**John Casey's Apartment**

Sarah knocked at the door and went in after hearing "Get in here, Walker, the General's waiting" shouted by Casey. She hadn't taken that long to shower. It was her Sunday and she wanted to spend it with her husband, not with some dried-up crone who probably wanted to complain about cost effective oversight – again.

She opened the door and stepped in and felt the tranks hit her tank top and her throat. 'No, they're after Chuck, they're going to put him in a bu' and succumbed to the four dart loads of the drug.

**Casa Bartowski – 2 hours later**

Chuck had dozed off waiting for Sarah to return. He hadn't really moved either. Just nodded off and now he looked at the clock and wondered where the hell she was. He listened but didn't hear a shower, walked through the apartment to see if she was cooking (God forbid) up a surprise for him or doing laundry (again, God forbid). Sarah was not a domestic Goddess.

The apartment was empty. He looked at the clock in the kitchen and found that he'd slept two hours. The conference with Beckman should have been over long ago. Did she and Casey have a mission? Why wouldn't they have taken him along or why hadn't she at least awakened him to tell him she was leaving?

The last two thoughts occurred as he walked briskly over to Casey's. He knocked on the door since John had a 'thing' about shooting anyone who tried to just barge in. No response. He knocked again and again no response.

He walked over to the window and tried to see if he could see if Casey was just being an ass as usual and avoiding him. Although he couldn't see much, what he did see sent him into a Bartowski panic. The living room was empty.

In his mind he was sure he'd spun around in circles like some cartoon character. They'd been ambushed, taken, purged and about twenty other scenarios rushed through his mind. Fearing the worst, he ran back to his apartment, got his watch, wallet and keys and headed out to the Castle in the Herder.

**Orange Orange**

**1 hour later**

He'd used his BuyMore keys and come into the Castle from there. He knew that stealth was critical and he was very careful not to even breathe loudly. He could hear John Casey speaking with General Beckman. What he heard almost made him cry out.

"So, Major Casey, now that Agent Walker has been successfully subdued and is being transported to Washington for assessment and reassignment, we need to talk about the asset. It won't be long before the next version of the intersect is brought on line. A lot was learned from the last 6 failures and I've been assured this version will be successfully implemented. That means that Mr. Bartowski's service to his government will no longer be required and you are authorized to 'administratively retire' Mr. Bartowski upon notice that the new intersect is on-line."

"General, I know this seems out of character, but the man has been an incredible asset to operations here on the West Coast. He's shown to be creative, resourceful and supportive of all our operations. Isn't there another option than 'administrative retirement'?

"No. That's my final decision. I've already lost an agent to Bartowski's corruption, are you going to be the second? Walker can and will be salvaged using the techniques we've developed along with the CIA. She'll have a 'fresh outlook' and can be sent back to Bryce Larkin and her deep cover assignment where she'll be invaluable to his efforts. I have no such hope for a burnt-out NSA agent of your age, Major, do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal, General, crystal."

The seal of the NSA floated across the screen like some bloated obscenity.

John Casey's hand automatically reached for the source of the sting in his neck but was unconscious within seconds due to 4 more stings in his neck, shoulder and back. There would have been more darts in him but the magazine only held 5 darts.

* * *

**Castle**  
**4 hours later**

Ok, he shouldn't have hit him with the entire magazine of trank darts but he was really enraged. They'd taken his wife to D.C. They were going to "reassess" her and send her back to that RatBastard Bryce Larkin. The General made it sound like it was no big deal for her to just turn her back on him and go back to deep cover. Someone was going to answer some questions for him.

Impatient, he filled a glass with ice water from the dispenser and poured it into John Casey's lap and achieved the desired effect. John Casey was awake. And groggily angry. And quite naked.

Casey focused on his situation, running a rapid assessment of his current position, location and the presence of any possible enemies. What he saw both enraged and flabbergasted him. Sitting across from him in a chair like the one he was currently secured to sat the asset, Chuck Bartowski. The look on his face was one Casey had never seen him wear before. It made him uneasy because he thought he knew the entire repertoire of 'Chuck faces'.

"What the fuck are you doing, Bartowski? Cut me loose or I'll tear off one of your spindly stick arms and beat you to death with it. Do you know what you're doing here? Do you have any idea what's going on here, Bartowski? It's over. Your girlfriend has gone back to D.C. for reassignment to her old partner, Bryce Larkin. It's over. No more kissypoo bullshit with your cover girlfriend, you loser. It's over."

"Wife." Chuck said in a monotone.

"What? What did you say, Bartowski? Man the fuck up and sound off like you got a pair."

"Wife. Not girlfriend, wife." Again the monotone, but with a hint of sadness.

John Casey had been assessing his physical status while baiting Chuck. He figured he could break his thumb and get out of one of the cuffs and then beat Bartowski unconscious with the chair. It took him exactly 2.3 seconds to realize he was oh so fucked. His _wife?_

"Where exactly did they take her, Casey, and what are they going to do to her? What "fresh outlook" are they going to give her? And how do they do that? Five seconds before the pain starts, Casey. And you don't want that, do you, John?"

Casey started testing all his bonds. Wrists duct taped to the chair arms, as were the forearms and upper arms. Duct tape across his bare chest. Ankles and calves duct taped to the legs of the chair. His feet were in a pan of liquid, probably water.

"Ok, you heartless bastard. She was your partner and you betrayed her. You abandoned her to that old hag for what? A chance to continue on in your miserable existence. You didn't even get an attaboy out of that bitch. Well, John, things are about to heat up in your world."

Chuck reached behind him and pinched off a golf ball sized piece of C4 he'd taken from the armory. He took Casey's cigar lighter and lit the C4 and threw it into the pan of water. The water started boiling almost instantly and Casey screamed after 3 seconds. Chuck pushed him back on the back legs of the chair and pushed the pan of boiling water to the side and then let the chair slam back down on all four legs.

"Where exactly did they take her, Casey, and what are they going to do to her? What "fresh outlook" are they going to give her? And how do they do that? The same questions will be asked every time. And every time you fail to respond I'll drop you back into the pan of water. I figure you'll die after a day or two. But until then I'll just give you a little preview of the Hell you're going to for all eternity."

It sickened Chuck to see what he'd done to John Casey's feet. He was ashamed and before God, he knew he would be damned for eternity but he'd taken his vows and he would honor his promise to Sarah. He would give his immortal soul for the safety of his wife. His life. His love.

"Where did they take my wife, Casey? Where have they taken Sarah?"

"I don't know, Bartowski. Just know that Beckman is cleaning up out here and wants Walker back in tandem with Larkin. They're going to scrub her memory, Bartowski, they'll erase you and Burbank and all of us from her memory. They'll give her new ones and you'll be flushed down the memory hole of her mind."

John Casey was, at heart, a very honorable and religious man, some would say a _moral_ man. From his childhood in St. Louis to his near admission to a Jesuit Seminary to study for the priesthood he'd been exposed to the catechisms of the Church, the teachings of both the Dominicans and the Jesuits.

In Casey's mind, nothing Chuck Bartowski did to save his wife was too extreme. He was doing what was morally and ethically correct even if the means were… extreme. His Jesuit teachers would have applauded his resolve just as they would demean Casey's sacrifices for the Greater Good as ultimately self-serving and hypocritical.

"For what it's worth, I had no idea you and Walker were married. I don't know if it would have made any difference to Beckman, probably not, but it would have made a difference to me. 'What God has joined, let no man put asunder.' Do what you have to, Chuck, to get her back. It's the only right thing in this whole fucking operation."

"Go to sleep, John" and Chuck shot him, twice, in the heart.


	3. Declaration of War Nerd Style

**Castle**

After shooting Casey with the trank gun, Chuck vomited up everything he'd ever eaten. He moved Casey into a detention cell and locked it down. His handler needed medical attention and Chuck just couldn't call 911 or leave him at an ER. He called Devon Woodcombe.

**Castle  
4 hours later**

Devon Woodcombe was upset and confused. He'd gotten a call from Chuck who told him in no uncertain terms to get back to Burbank immediately and to call him when he got there. Devon tried to ask questions but all he'd say was 'Do it, Devon, they've got Sarah' and then he'd hung up. Ellie had tried to call but the calls went straight to voicemail.

Devon had called Chuck from the apartment. Chuck told him to bring Ellie and meet him at the rear entrance to the Orange Orange. They'd driven there in record time and as promised, Chuck had met them at the door. He keyed in a code on the keypad and led them into a storage room. Telling them to be quiet, he popped a keypad and optical scanner out of the wall and keyed in his access code. When Devon saw the retinal scanner his eyes bugged out and all he could say was "Awesome".

Ellie followed them down into the Castle. She couldn't contain herself any longer and started a barrage of questions to her brother who turned on her and said viciously "Shut up, Ellie, for once in your life, just shut up and listen for a change."

Devon started to say something in Ellie's defense but something about the look on Chuck's face made any comment stillborn.

For the next hour Chuck held their rapt attention with a narrative of the past two years. Nothing was said until Chuck got to the part about marrying Sarah and her kidnapping by the very people she worked for. Ellie threw herself at him, hugging him and sobbing that they would do anything, anything, to help him get her back.

"Fine. The first thing you have to do is treat John Casey's feet. He's in a detention cell, sedated. I needed information. He wouldn't talk so I persuaded him. He needs medical treatment and obviously I can't just dump him at the local ER. They'd be on me like stink on shit."

"I'm on it." Devon said. He'd already seen the medical kit in the office. Looked more like a full field hospital in a bag.

Devon walked back in, pale as a ghost, and just looked at the man who used to be the friendly nerd brother of his fiancé. "Ellie, I 'll need your help. My God, Chuck, what did you do to him? Was it worth it? Torture? What's happened to you?"

"The Greater Fucking Good happened to me. And it'll happen to you and Ellie and anyone else who gets in their way. Now, either help me or get the hell out. And yes, it was worth it. Wouldn't you do the same for Ellie? Wouldn't you?"

Devon didn't answer, just turned around and went into the detention area. Ellie followed him, wondering why he didn't answer her brother's question.

John Casey's feet were bandaged. He'd need to stay off them, have the dressings and ointments changed regularly to ensure the burns didn't get infected. It would be best if he were hospitalized and treated properly, but Devon realized there wasn't much that could be done in a hospital that he hadn't already done. He checked the IV and hung another bottle of glucose and saline. Ellie had helped but hadn't said a single word.

"Ellie, I know it's going to be hard dealing with Chuck but he's your bro…"

"No, Devon, it's easy to deal with Chuck. He's in love. His wife is in mortal danger. He has a mission to rescue her, a promise to keep. It's not going to be so easy dealing with your absence, Devon. But I'll get by. Just go. I'll handle this. You'll be blameless. Go back to your ideal world, Devon. You should have answered his question, Devon."

She took off her engagement ring and handed it to him. "I want a lover, a mate, a husband like my brother. Someone who will move Heaven and earth for the woman he loves, not join a protest group or attend a teach-in. You're not that man, Devon. You're a good man, but not the kind of man I need. Goodbye."

* * *

Chuck had been reviewing some files on Casey's computer. He'd been aware of the termination operation for a month now. The schedule was outlined. He had 4 days to pull off a miracle before they shut down the Castle and sent in an NSA cleaner team.

Four days. He took out his iPhone and scrolled though the pictures of his wife then he scrolled through his mental images. Her sexy half-awake look in the morning. The way she looked with water flowing over her in the shower when she climaxed. The sounds she made when they made love. The almost purring she made when they spooned.

He couldn't afford the luxury of tears, of sadness. He needed a plan. He would have her back or he would destroy the NSA, the CIA or any of the other alphabets that got in his way.

Charles Irving Bartowski was about to declare war on the intelligence establishment of the United States. Sarah would probably laugh her ass off at such a notion but if she could see the look on her husband's face, she'd reconsider and bet on the Beloved Nerd.

"Beckman, secure. What do you want, Major Cas…" Her eyebrows went up into her hairline. "What is the meaning of this, Mr. Bartowski? Where is Major Casey? What do you want? I'm very busy here and have no time for you."

"Stop! If you disconnect this teleconference I will bring a world of hate and pain down upon you and yours. General, you have taken my wife. Major Casey confirmed that under, uh, duress, great duress. I want her back, now, unharmed and with guarantees in writing that no harm will come to her now or in the future."

"You want her back? Your wife? I'm afraid not, Mr. Bartowski. She is currently undergoing some reassessment training and will be unavailable for some time. Perhaps weeks, or months. These things take time and are never easily estimated. I suggest you run along now, Mr. Bartowski. Enjoy what little time you have. Thank you for your service."

Diane Beckman disconnected and Chuck went over to a computer and keyed a program queue and pushed |ENTER|.

Within seconds the entire life history of Diane Beckman was deleted from every database that was available through the intersect's extensive files. Her bank accounts were closed and the monies transferred to charity, her rather extensive portfolio of stocks were sold, all her credit cards were maxed out and cancelled, the titles to her cars and the deed to her house were transferred to charities, the Social Security Administration was informed of her death as was the Office of the Secretary of the Army, and she filed for divorce from her husband of 30 years.

**Castle  
6 hours later**

"Bartowski, you little son of a bitch. You're never going to see Sarah Walker again. We've accelerated her conditioning. She'll be lucky to remember her own name. She will never remember you and if she somehow does, the pain will be unbearable and cause instant loss of consciousness. Just the sight of you will put her life in jeopardy. You're a dead man, Bartowski."

"General, I want my wife back, unharmed. You have four days to make a public statement absolving us of any wrong-doing, you will promote Major Casey and you will resign your commission and seek medical retirement. You are obviously mad, Diane, insane. Watch these coordinates, General Beckman. You have 3 days and 18 hours."

Chuck pulled up another queue of programs that were available to the intersect. It was just a matter of flashing on the war game scenario and the access codes were made available through a flash on the internet.

He keyed a program queue and pushed |ENTER|.

A US Navy ballistic missile submarine transiting the Bering Straits received an order to fire a war shot at a set of coordinates. The launch codes matched the authorization codes of the Director of the NSA. Firing sequences were initiated and no abort code was received. 17 minutes later approximately 40 square miles of the Pacific Ocean's surface disappeared in a combination of nuclear fire and boiling water. Radiation and environmental impacts were minimized by the 50kt airburst at 2,000 feet. The world's reaction was not. Diane Beckman would have a busy day.

So would Chuck. The Castle was no longer tenable. Ellie, a sedated Casey and a very worried Chuck relocated to a secure safe house located using the intersect files and the visual cues he'd run from the Castle databases.


	4. Sarah's Tale Warning Intense

ThePromise4

_**A/N: Although I'm a stickler for using real places I've been to, similar situations and individuals as much as possible, the techniques here are, hopefully, out of reach of any agency of the Empire. I try to write what I know. **_

_ Also, regarding Ellie's reaction: she and Chuck were raised together, formed opinions and beliefs based upon common background, upbringing and situations, I therefore submit that her attitudes and Chuck's would be extremely similar in specific circumstances. Also, I just felt like screwing with Devon and Ellie and maybe letting John Xavier have a shot at her. He does like her… um… cooking._

_Please read the techno-babble. There are clues and hints and points that are germane to the plot line and I don't want to have to explain stuff to you that you should have read._

_This chapter is Sarah's Tale. The next chapter will cover the same period of time from Chuck's viewpoint._  


* * *

**Unknown location  
Unknown date**

Consciousness came in stages, first the nausea, then the headache, then the feeling of disorientation and finally, worst of all, the heart-crushing realization that her husband was either dead or worse, a prisoner of his own government deep underground.

She'd gotten sloppy. She'd developed trust in others, a byproduct of her relationship with her asset. She'd trusted her _NSA partner_ and that trust had either killed her husband or sentenced him to a life alone, without family or friends, without _her_.

Part of her soul, the better part, cried out in anguish for her lost love. She'd been lost, adrift on a sea of meaningless relationships, broken dreams and false promises when she found him. Or he found her. Or they found each other. No matter. Each was the missing half of the other. Together they created a dynamic that knew no boundaries. Soul mates.

The darker portion of her soul cried out for vengeance, retribution, a restoration of the balance it had briefly known while joined with it's missing half. It missed the light and warmth it had known only briefly but now craved as its natural state. It wanted the entity known in its host's mind as "Chuck" back. Nothing would prevent the re-joining.

* * *

**Day 1 – unknown location**

Subject: Walker, Sarah, Central Intelligence Agency, Caucasian, female, age 30, scheduled for accelerated reassessment and Critical Self Analysis; maximum restraint and security levels required at all times until treatments completed and subject tested.

The psychoanalyst handling her treatment raised an eyebrow at the security protocols required. Well, orders were orders. She noted Walker's chart as 'MaxSecure' and placed it in a red jacket. Red jacket patients were never left alone, technicians were always in pairs during treatments, and extreme measures were authorized should the patient attempt to escape or commit suicide.

The first step was to establish a baseline of the information present, identify and catalog those memories that would be 'erased' as specified in the subject's assignment brief. Sometimes it was a memory of a particular mission, like assassination, or of capture and torture, but sometimes it was to locate and disarm 'emotional triggers' linking the subject to individuals such as spouses, children, or partners, as specified in the assignment brief. Memories that might provoke 'inappropriate responses' in an agent resulting in compromise or the failure of a mission.

The procedure was to identify, catalog and remove the landmines in the agent's mind before the agent's mental foot does.

The procedure didn't purge the triggers; it simply 'hid' them using techniques the Agency had developed after studying the brainwashing techniques of the North Koreans and the Chinese. You weren't a Manchurian Candidate exactly and if you had the right trigger and visual stimuli in the proper sequences, you could recover the memory blocks. It just wasn't recommended. There were tales of agents who accidentally recovered blocked memories and were terminated by their partners as a result. Some said it was a mercy, others said it was because they'd gone mad.

It was like the intersect in reverse. Sometimes an agent looked at people, places, a smell, or sound and it combined to trigger a … nothing. Like having the word on the tip of your tongue or when that sneeze builds to such an incredible level you think it's going to blow you face off and then…poof… nothing. It's gone. It was very unsatisfying but in an agent's life, very necessary.

The assignment brief covered dates, places, missions, etc. There was a notation that the Agent had married the asset to whom she was assigned as part of a protection team. That was curious because the personal detail brief specifically stated that the marital status of the Agent was 'single'.

This struck an emotional chord with the analyst. She was married and she loved her husband but she had never been 'in love' with him. This Agent went against protocol and orders and threw caution to the wind and married for love and now the Agency wanted to purge every memory, every trace of the man she loved as punishment. It was punishment, nothing short of being cruel beyond belief. She felt shame for the role she was about to play in destroying this young woman's life and the life of her young man.

The more she reviewed the protocols and photographs that were to be followed and used in the sessions, the greater became her discomfort and disgust. It was plain as the nose on your face from the surveillance photos that these two young people were in love, not lust. Every photo of them together was somehow complete. Those taken as individuals were truly alone not just solitary. And this was punishment and the General who was ordering it admitted as much in her "hurry up and get it done" memo.

She wanted any trace of the young man ripped from the Agent's mind regardless of the cost or damage. Such cruelty surprised even the jaded analyst who had performed literally hundreds of these 'refreshenings'.

She decided that for one time in her life, she would do something for love instead of a paycheck. She would leave a few unrelated triggers uncovered and trust to fate and True Love to let her find them. It was the most she could do and still pass the subject.

In most instances the procedure was straight forward, determine the cues, find them, deliver the aversion, restimulate the cues and apply aversion until the mind finally said "hey, that hurts us, let's not look there" and the procedure is complete. Testing took almost as long as the process. The mind is a curious unknown and it tends to protect itself in most intriguing ways. Testing required stimulation, pain and more stimulation until at last there was no reaction to the cues, the mind finally having surrendered to avoiding the pain.

**Day 2 Unknown location**

The accelerated therapy began in earnest. Her screams filled the room and the adjacent hallways. Nurses on duty looked at each other furtively. The collective guilt was appalling and oppressive. The rumor mill was surprisingly accurate. An agent fell in love and dared to marry without permission. The price was a total memory wipe of her husband who had been her asset. More than half the nursing staff called in sick the next day.

It took several stitches to close the laceration in her tongue when she bit through it.

**Day 3 Unknown location**

The second day of "refreshing" ended after the Agent bit through her lip. The nursing staff was strangely silent and those who did come to work avoided eye contact with each other during their shifts. The third shift did not report at all.

The psychoanalyst in charge of the therapy felt that only one more day would be required to reach a breakthrough. She was wrong.

The process took three times as long with Sarah Walker as it had ever taken with even the most stubborn subject. It also required 3 stitches to her tongue, 4 to her lip and the resetting of her right wrist. She had bitten through her tongue and lip rather than surrender to simply saying "I don't know him" to stop the pain. Her right wrist was broken when she tore the restraint from the bed frame and attempted to maul a nurse with it. Security attendants took the red jacket file seriously; they broke her wrist to release her hold on the nurse's throat. She screamed obscenities and cried hysterically for her husband, crying out for "Chuck". Finally on the eighth day her mind said 'no more' and surrendered its hold on her memories. All except the three triggers carefully left uncovered and unaffected. It was up to her mind to find them and make the connections necessary to release the blocks.

**Day 8**Style Definitions */ , , {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} 1 {page:Section1;} --

**Unknown location**

"Agent Walker, the head injury you received is fully healed but you may experience 'after shocks' especially if you dwell on those who caused the injury. Revenge is not the answer. Take two of these each time you have the symptoms. You should be free of these residual symptoms in a month. Good luck on your new mission."

After she left she wondered why the doctor looked like she wanted to say more. Or why she looked like she was going to break down in tears. Must be a hard assignment.

Through the process of elimination NSA had narrowed the location of the traitors to one of 4 different safe houses. Massive raids were nonproductive on the others. They always seemed to know where the force would strike and be gone before they arrived. Another problem was that there appeared to be a significant morale problem among the strike teams. More than half the male agents and almost all the female agents had resigned or requested transfer to other duties. This didn't include the 3 agents who defected to the traitor's side.

General Beckman felt a new approach was required. Instead of the hammer, they were going for the needle: Agent Sarah Walker would recon and infiltrate the remaining sites, killing anyone she encountered for the Greater Good, of course.

**Day 9 **

**NSA Headquarters**

FT Meade, MD

Sarah Walker listened patiently as General Beckman explained her next assignment. She was introduced to photos, videos, voice recordings and other surveillance data to familiarize herself with her targets. It was a straightforward operation. Search and destroy. Find John Casey and Charles Bartowski and kill them. Photographic evidence was required. If the assassination could be filmed fine, if General Beckman could witness it over a direct link, all the better. Collateral damage was expected and would be handled by the usual NSA cleaner teams.

Time was of the essence. These two traitors had already caused irreparable harm to the agencies.

Once these two traitors were eliminated, she could join her lover, Bryce Larkin on his deep cover mission.

She was impatient to be back in his arms and bed. It had been far too long since she'd felt loved. She loved Bryce Larkin, but she knew she wasn't **in** love with him, that was against protocol and caused missions to fail and agents to die.

Sarah Walker was back in the game and hunting for her prey. 'Be patient, Bryce, I'm coming, baby. Soon I'll be back with you again, where I belong.

"Agent Walker, will the damage done to your wrist on your last assignment restrict your ability to accomplish your mission?" General Beckman seemed unusually keen on accomplishing the assassination. Her body language and the gleam in her suggested to Sarah that this was 'personal' for the General.

"No, ma'am, if anything, it gives me another weapon." Beckman just smiled. Sarah noticed the tic on the general's eye and also how her hands were shaking. 'She better switch to decaf. Or take a Valium. I hope I'm out of here before she strokes out.' She laughed to her self. 'That sounds like a Casey crack' and immediately felt the onset of a sudden and tremendous migraine. She opened her purse and shook out two pills the doctor had given her and dry swallowed them. Her stitches would be out in a week and she'd have this wrapped up and be on her way south to meet Bryce.


	5. Chuck Read 'Art of War' Cliff Notes

**A/N: Will Chuck's very goodness be his downfall and the loss of his Sarah? All it takes for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing. **

**To those brave souls who actually read Sarah's Tale, my thanks. It was hard to write. Stuff like that happens but I cannot imagine a woman going through it. My former SWMNBN is on her way back to home and hearth. In her country stuff like this happens daily to ordinary people who speak out against the government. I hope she finally learns to keep her small mouth shut.**

**So, Chuck's time clock to defeat Beckman is winding down. **

**Day 2 Safe House **

**Eagle Rock, CA**

Exterior surveillance indicated there were 4 NSA agents approaching their location. Their approach was totally casual. After all, what could a nerd asset do to them? They were highly trained and motivated agents of one of the most powerful espionage and intelligence agencies in the world. The scene was almost comical.

All four agents approached from the front of the building. No rear security and no one did a walk-around to check for other entrances or exits. It wasn't a safe "house" but rather a cinder block auto repair garage. The team's intelligence was woefully lacking, as was their professionalism.

None returned to their base. Their two vehicles were found stripped of any worthwhile equipment and burned behind the garage. It was the smoke that attracted the first responders and it was they who found the four male agents unconscious, naked and handcuffed to one another and each bearing a message written with a Sharpie on their chest to General Beckman. It said simply:

General Beckman: Release Sarah Walker

_**Release My Wife**_

_**Chuck B.**_

_**3 Days**_

It was impossible to clamp a lid on the story. The local TV station reported it on the evening news. A highly motivated reported began interviewing people regarding the identity of General Beckman and Sarah Walker. No one knew anything, of course, but it did serve to muddy the waters and bring the situation to the attention of some higher-ranking individuals who weighed their careers against doing the right thing. Their careers won, of course.

**Day 3 Safe House**

**San Pedro, CA**

Chuck knew it was only a matter of time. He was fast running out of options. His merry band of misfits had been increased by 3 defections from that morning's raiders. His sister, Ellie, was spending more and more time with John Casey and Chuck had actually seen him smile and laugh and no one had died to cause it. Truly a miracle.

The NSA strike teams had hit 6 safe houses within minutes of each other. All they found was a recording of Chuck asking, almost begging, General Beckman to return his wife and stop the torture. At that point in the video recording the raiders saw a gleeful General Diane Beckman taunting their target with brief clips of his wife being "refreshed". The sound quality was excellent and the screams of Sarah Walker were very clear. She screamed his name over and over. "I won't forget him. His name is Chuck, Chuck Bartowski, and he is my husband and my love." The video from Beckman showed Sarah bleeding from the mouth when she bit her tongue.

It also showed General Diane Beckman of the NSA smiling gleefully and daring this "Chuck" to do his damnedest. His wife would be his assassin. And only then would she be told of his true identity.

Of 24 NSA agents, 11 requested immediate reassignment, 4 resigned citing personal conflicts, and 3 female agents defected to Bartowski finding him by using the simple process of elimination to find his safe house. They would not be the last to defect, but they would have the most profound effect.

The first video showed up on You Tube and went viral within hours. The clip showed a female agent speaking to the viewer, explaining that a man's wife had been taken from him for the sin of falling in love and getting married. It had been against the rules and they'd both known of possible consequences, but not this. The clips of Sarah Walker being tortured were played without the images of General Beckman.

There were 600,000 views in the two hours before the management caved to government pressures and blocked the video.

It didn't matter. Soon hundreds of copies were being aired and "Free Sarah Walker" websites were springing up all over the web.

* * *

The entire power grid providing electrical power to Washington, D.C. and the surrounding suburbs in Virginia and Maryland surged every hour on the hour for 12 hours. Technicians were stymied and could find no cause for the surges. Computer repair companies were swamped with repair calls.

The ticker on the NYSE suddenly started repeating FREE SARAH WALKER++++FREE MY WIFE instead of stock quotes. It didn't take a genius to figure out that a true genius was trying to tell someone something. And that someone was _not_ listening.

The Evening News with Katie Couric had an unscheduled guest. In the middle of her recitation of how great the world was the video of a screaming Sarah Walker appeared ruining the dinner of many Americans. A message scrolled across the screen: Free Sarah Walker, General Beckman, Free My Wife.

* * *

Chuck was frustrated and angry. Both those qualities were fairly new to him. In the past, well, ok, he had been frustrated with Bryce and Jill and the whole Stanford mess but right now he was frustrated because he couldn't do what needed to be done to free his wife. Because he didn't _know_ what needed to be done.

If information was power, then Chuck felt he should flex the intersect a bit. First he started with non-classified but sensitive data. Stuff like the missing 18 minutes of the Watergate tapes.

The Washington Post received transcripts of the tapes. The editors questioned running them until they received emails with photographs of them and their non-wives in compromising positions courtesy of the NSA with the notation that they either choose a good divorce lawyer or do the right thing for a change and run the transcripts.

The L.A. Times received a listing of all the operations conducted by Team Bartowski with the results and impacts on the L.A. area. They didn't need the emails. They ran them without corroboration, much to the shock and dismay of their lawyers. Newspapers needed to be sold. Screw the damned lawyers.

The New York Times received a listing of all the terror cells that had been brought down and the intended impacts in the immediate area. It didn't bother with attribution or lawyers either.

Each was accompanied by a request to put the following quote at the end of the story: Free Sarah Walker. General Beckman. Free My Wife. All three newspapers printed the news with the tag line. Not one copy made it to the newsstands. NSA lawyers and their pocket judges placed injunctions on each newspaper and threatened the publishers with prison if they went to print.

Their wives received emails. All filed for divorce. Still no word on Sarah Walker.

* * *

Ellie found Chuck sitting outside the two-story farmhouse they were using. It was a beautiful evening and Chuck appeared to be watching the sunset. Ellie sat down beside him and put her arm around him. "Chuck, what are your plans? What are we going to do next? How can we win against this monster who has Sarah?"

"I don't know, Ellie. I just don't know anymore. Nothing I do matters, nothing works. I won't hurt anyone and they know that, Ellie, they're sure I won't hurt anyone. It seems my 'goodness' is my weakness and will be the end of my Sarah. It won't even help to surrender. They don't care. It's just punishment for the awful sin of falling in love with the most wonderful woman in the world. It's hateful, Ellie, and I don't know how to beat them."

"Chuck, talk to John. He's with us. He feels terrible about what he did. He never guessed you two had beaten his surveillance. He can't believe he was beaten by a nerd. But mostly he's ashamed of what he did to you two. He doesn't blame you for hurting him. He believes you had every right to do whatever it took to protect your family. Talk to him. He may have some ideas. He's too ashamed of what he did to talk to you. So, man up, Bartowski, and talk to him."

Chuck looked stunned and his sister laughed for the first time since she'd come down into the Castle.

"Ellie, I'm sorry I busted up you and Devon. I'm sure when this is over, he'll want you back. He loves you, Ellie. I know he does."

Ellie sighed. "Yes, he does. But I want a love like you and Sarah have. I want what you have. It's more than Devon and I had. He couldn't answer your question, Chuck, because he knew the answer would end it between us. I'm glad you asked him, Chuck. It kept me from being divorced. It wouldn't have worked out, you know it."

"That's crazy sis. He was nuts about you."

"I want a husband who is willing to go to war with the United States to protect me. He doesn't even have to win, he just has to try. So try, Chuck. That's all Sarah or I would ask. Just try."

* * *

Chuck Bartowski walked into the kitchen and took a beer out of the refrigerator. He was tired. He was frustrated. He couldn't get the video of Sarah screaming for him out of his mind. He'd run out of options, tricks, plans, everything.

He saw John Casey sitting in the dark, nursing a beer. He used his foot to kick out the chair across from him. "Sit down, Bartowski. Sit down before you fall down. It won't help us get Sarah back if you're too wasted to think straight."

"I'm sorry for what I did to you, John, it was a terrible thing to do to another person. I'm really sorry."

"Ok, I forgive you. Feel better now? Let me tell you something, Chuck, you earned my respect that day. You manned up big-time and took on the establishment for your family. Not many men would do that. I'm not sure if I'd be able to do it"

"This is more your area than mine, Casey, what should I do? Beckman says she's being programmed to be an assassin, _my assassin_ and after she does it, Beckman will tell her who I was to her. It will kill her, Casey, I can't let that happen."

"Well, son, you have two choices, don't let her catch up with you, or let her catch up with you and hope she misses. Neither are good choices. Not for either of you. You're too damned noble to run and she's too damned good a shot to miss. My suggestion is to decide what's more important, your life as it is now, or her life as it is now. Because there's no going back. "

"Let me tell you a story. When I first got started in this I had a partner. She recruited me. She was 10 years older than me and had been around the block a few times too many. Seen too much, done too much, had nothing to show for it. I told our supervisor about some things and the next thing I know she's been processed through the mind wipe and she's back, happy as a clam. Until one day we're staking out this guy for a take out and he's got his kid in his arms. I'm ready to take the shot and I feel her gun in my side. 'Don't do it, Johnny' she says. Real sad like. I set up my sight picture again and there's the gun, against my ribs. 'Please don't do it, Johnny' she says. Then she shot me and herself. It happens a lot, kid, a lot. It's the price of this life."

"That was the longest speech I ever heard you give. Must have made an impression on you. A terrible impression."

"Yeah, you could say that. She was my oldest sister. Got me into the business and taught me well, perhaps too well. I couldn't do much for the next year. But I figured I had to do it. It was my duty, my job. Stupid, Chuck, I should have gotten out while I still had a chance of saving my immortal soul. Too late now."

"You're still in the game, John, you're not beyond redemption. I think only Beckman is. Or she sure as hell will be. You know if I do go down, Sarah will kill Beckman, regardless of the cost. What price True Love, John? How much do we have to pay?"

"You pay whatever it's worth to you, for you. It's the only thing that's worth the cost of your soul. Now, I'm dry and you're being girly again. Get us another beer and we'll see what we can figure out."

They drank through the night. Nothing got planned and not much got said but a lot got settled.

* * *

San Pedro Safe House Day Four

Casey was nursing a hangover and the little Bartowski Band were all sitting at the table discussing options. Nothing seemed to fill the bill. They should kill the General but Chuck was adamant about that. Do no harm. Even Casey agreed with him. No one gets hurt. We keep the high ground. We have right on our side.

That started an argument between the NSA people and it got loud.

"Hey, enough. Fighting among ourselves is not going to do anything but waste energy. We're going about this all wrong. We're hiding when we should be in plain sight. How else are we going to flush them out if we're waiting for them to come to us. I have a plan. Knowing Sarah Walker as I do, I think this will be her plan, too. At least I hope so."

After he told them what he thought they should do the group was divided equally between those who thought he was crazy and those who thought he was nuts. Only Ellie and Casey hadn't taken sides.

"There's only one way to win. I don't play. I go home. I live my life and I wait for my wife to join me. After that, it's a crap shoot. The rest of you are out of harm's way and that's necessary to me also."

"John, Ellie, go to Hawaii."

"What? Together? You nuts?" Casey looked at Ellie who looked ready to cry.

"John, you wouldn't like to go to Hawaii with me? Am I that bad?" That last was said with a little girl smile.

"No, no, no. It's just that leaving Chuck here unprotected is suicide. Hell, yes I'd go to Hawaii with you."

"John, you'd be drawing them off me, at least some, anyway. They don't think we'd separate so they'd think I was either already there or following on shortly."

Casey was thinking. And smiling. Then grinning. "So Ellie, you got a bikini?" And everyone laughed and the tension was broken. Chuck thanked Casey with his eyes. Casey knew getting Ellie out of the line of fire was important and he'd protect her.

Chuck knew it was Day Four and he'd yet to make Beckman crack and release Sarah. Now he didn't want her released. In a fragile mental state, acting against him might unhinge her. He'd rather see her sane and alive living a lie than knowing the truth and going insane. The story of Casey and his sister haunted him. It explained a lot about John Xavier Casey, though.

"Ellie, do you think Devon's still at the apartment? Did you give him any hope of reconciliation? I don't want him exposed to unnecessary danger. Sarah will kill him, too, if he's there."

"No, Chuck. He's gone. He said he'd be out by the next evening and that he'd send for his things once he got his own place. He's rooming with one of his frat brothers from UCLA who has a practice of his own."

"Good. Casey would the NSA cleaners have gutted our place? Is there anything left of our old lives?"

"No reason to do that, Chuck. The mission was to separate you from Sarah, not you from your family." Again Casey looked remorseful.

"Good. I'm counting on familiar surroundings maybe shaking loose some of that bitch's programming. May it'll work, maybe not. Depends on just how gone I am from her mind." For some reason that thought brought tears to his eyes. She wouldn't know him from any other mark. He'd rather be dead.

* * *

**Casa Bartowski  
Burbank, CA****  
Day 5**

Chuck made the mistake of going into their room. He couldn't breathe. His chest was constricted and he felt like he was having a heart attack. The bed was unmade and the t-shirt she'd wear between their room and the bathroom was on the floor right next to her flip-flops. He picked up the t-shirt and held it to his face both to inhale her scent and to catch his tears.

He pulled himself together and then went down his mental to-do list. Ellie and Casey were on their way to Maui. They looked like honeymooners. John X. as a brother in law? Possible. Not probable but certainly possible. Ellie looked at him like he was a doughnut stuffed with Bavarian crème. Yummy.

Yech. He did not need that mental image. He loved his sister but not that way. Let Casey delve into her various mysteries. So not going to be his concern.

He knew he was being watched. He knew her well. Recon the mark. Determine vulnerabilities and strengths and plan to take advantage of each. Get the lay of the land and determine where to set the ambush and kill zone. Either wait for the mark to enter the zone on his own or develop a lure to entice him.

Well, unless she dragged Ellie back from Hawaii, she'd have to wait for him to enter the zone on his own.

He intended to do just that but he would choose the time since she would already have chosen the place. He knew he was right. Now all he had to do was convince her of it. He opened his closet and found what he was looking for. A box marked "trading cards". He opened it and took out the first item and looked at it then put it in his jacket pocket. Their wedding picture. If he was going to die, well, he wanted one of his last memories to be of that night in Vegas.

_Chuck, baby, this is crazy. You know it is. I would give anything to marry you and be the little missus but it's not the time, baby, not while that cursed intersect is still in your head. Not while it's so necessary for our country. Can't you see that, baby mine? No, not that! Anything but that. Put those eyebrows back where they belong, Charles Irving Bartowski. I am so not marrying you. That's final. At least not now. So, come over here and show me how much you love me, Chuck. Please?_

He's shown her, several times in fact. And each time he told her he loved her he did, a little bit more, as if such a thing were possible. And she finally, without reservation, let him know just what he meant to her. In a manner that was unmistakable.

_Oh, Chuck. Baby. I've never felt so loved. And I don't mean the sex although that was AWSOME! I'm sorry, my love, but I've changed my mind about all this. It's not going to work, not at all. I can't do this anymore, Chuck. Please don't ask me to live like this. I can't live a lie._

Now he was totally freaked out. She was calling it off? Sending him on his way. Slam, Bam, Thank You Chuck? Yet she had called him "my love" and she talked about never having felt so loved before. Chuck Bartowski was done. He gave up. He felt like he was a daisy and she was plucking his petals off one by one. I love him, I love him not.

_I'll marry you. I will not be miss another moment without you. This is my promise to you: I will love you and only you for the rest of my life. From now on, Chuck, it's us, not you and me. It's us._

And then she'd cried, sobbed, into his chest. He had no idea what was wrong and not a clue what to do about it. He just held her and whispered that he loved her and only her and would never betray her even if his life were held in forfeit. It was his promise to her. Forsaking all others until death do they part.

She'd finally stopped crying, drying her eyes on the sheet and looking at him like she had to memorize every feature in the event this was a dream.

_Baby mine, lets take a shower and get cleaned up and then get hitched by a JP. But I have condition, Chuck, only one and it's the only condition I'll ever put on our marriage: I want a church wedding someday soon. I will vow before Man but I won't rest easy until I've vowed before God. So take the conditions or we go back to 'you and me' and there'll be no' us', ever. Choose, Chuck_

He grinned and kissed her. They would do both that night. Not the next day, not when they got time, that night. Man and God.

Now it was time for him to convince Sarah that the kill zone she'd select tonight was her idea.


	6. Make It All 'Never Was'

_A/N: I warned you all in the previous chapters, I was going to screw with Devon. Think of the contrasts between Ellie-Joy and Casey-Scowl. They have more in common with each other philosophically than Devon's plug and Ellie's socket._

_Short but I have an agenda in real life._

_Patience, dungbeetle, patience._

_The timelines converge in this chapter. I don't own Chuck, I just use him to piss people off.  


* * *

_**Palma de Majorca, Spain  
Day 5**

Brice Larkin was angry. For a CIA agent that state of mind often led to an untimely and violent demise. His job required that all faculties be alert and aware. Right now he could have been sitting in the middle of the USC Trojans Marching Band playing Barry Manilowe and he would not have noticed.

He was watching a video that one of his few friends in the Agency had sent him the link to via email. The message had been short and alarming: 'Larkin, isn't this your friend from Stanford that's mentioned?'

The clip showed a young woman, her face in shadows, who identified herself only as an agent of a US government intelligence agency. She spoke directly to the viewer, and stated that a man's wife had been taken from him for the sin of falling in love and getting married. It had been against the rules and they'd both known of possible consequences, but surely not this.

He expected to see a clip from some Middle Eastern country showing an example of the brutality of 9th century thinking against a 21st century woman who had violated the moral precepts of her religion.

Instead what followed was a 21st century woman being tortured by a 21st century government agency. .

She screamed his name over and over. "I won't forget him. His name is Chuck, Chuck Bartowski, and he is my husband and my love." The pirated video was tagged as originating on YouTube but when he went there it simply referred him to a statement from the site webmaster apologizing for the fraudulent upload that had slipped by the censors. Nothing more. It was easy to see the hand of Big Brother at work if you were in the know and knew how the game was played.

He clicked on the link again and scrolled down the site. In large letters he read Chuck's entreaty "Free My Wife, General Beckman, Free Sarah Walker".

Beckman had lied to him. She told him Sarah Walker had specifically requested assignment to him in his current deep cover operation because the Intersect Project would be winding down and an agent of her capabilities was far more useful teaming with him than babysitting an obsolete intersect host. And he'd believed her. Wanted to believe her. Wanted to believe that she loved him and was coming to _him_, not the CIA agent.

Married? She had married Chuck Bartowski? He couldn't believe it but then he started recalling snippets of conversation they'd had over the past two years. She'd drawn away from him, she'd seemed happier and more relaxed somehow even though he knew the Intersect was making her life and her partner's… interesting to say the least.

He'd be in L.A. within 36 hours. He'd talk to Chuck. Get to the bottom of this. She had married Chuck Bartowski? Wow.  


* * *

**FT Meade, MD  
NSA Headquarters****  
Day 6**

Diane Beckman was livid. Her Chief of Staff had presented her with the Congressional Subpoena from the House Select Intelligence Committee chairman demanding her presence at a closed-door hearing. The undisclosed subject would be discussed in depth and the subpoena had specified that it was for her and her alone to attend the hearing.

Her Chief brought to her attention the Agency Attrition Report that showed a high level of resignations from the Agency. Nearly 60% of the female agents had requested reassignment to non-field duties in lieu of resignation. More than 20% of the agents assigned to the West Coast were suddenly ill, on vacation or simply not reporting for duty.

Then he had given her his letter of resignation stating that he had worn his uniform for 30 years and was requesting immediate approval of his retirement request. He could no longer serve with honor.

Damn him and his Tower of Power badges, his medals and his damned honor. There was more at stake here than the antiquated concept of Duty, Honor and Country. There was discipline and order, an adherence to protocol.

Her attorneys were recreating her digital credit footprint and had promised litigation if and when the perpetrator of this heinous act was identified.

She wasn't worried about lawsuits.

The man who had caused all this chaos would be rotting in an unmarked shallow grave feeding the worms within the days. Sarah Bartowski nee Walker would see to that. And then Beckman would see personally to the debriefing of the Agent.

Maybe she'd be charitable and offer her a position on her staff. Maybe she would just have her institutionalized. She'd decide later. She was much too absorbed in the treatment tapes to give it much thought.

* * *

**Malibu Beach  
Malibu, CA  
Day 8**

Chuck Bartowski sat on his beach in his place watching his sun dip below his horizon. He'd spent so much of his life sitting here that he felt a right to his claim. He smiled thinking how ridiculous that sounded. Then he laughed, really laughed for the first time since this nightmare had begun. How insignificant one person was out of 6.5 _BILLION_. It was only significant to the one, not the many. The Star Trek line kept coming up more and more in his thoughts. He wasn't even sure if he'd remembered it right. _The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. _And he knew that in the grand scheme of things that was a true statement. But no one asked the _few_ their opinion. Again, he laughed, not so much in humor as in irony.

He'd come here every evening at the same time and stayed about the same length of time for the past 3 evenings establishing a pattern. Now he was doubting just how well he knew Sarah. He'd considered going back to the scene of the crime, Las Vegas, but he didn't want to involve a lot of others in his little morality play. Too many innocents and too many opportunities for tragedy. Besides, he'd met her, _here_, they'd spent 'quality time,' _here_, he'd fallen in love with her, _here_. So it seemed only right that it should end, _here_.

His iPhone rang. He didn't recognize the number but he answered anyway, thinking perhaps Sarah was trying to reach him. Maybe she was resorting to spy craft and using prepaid cell phones. It made sense. No record of the calls, no way to trace it to the caller.

"Hello?"

"Chuck, I got your back. I'll do whatever is necessary, buddy. I got you into this. What can I do to help you, Chuck?"

"Invent a time machine, go back and delete that fucking email, Bryce. Don't send it. I'll never have met her, she'll still be who she was and maybe you two can get together. That's all I want from you, Bryce, make all this history, all this heartache and suffering, make it all 'never was', man. That's all you can do for me, for us, Bryce, for Sarah and me. Make it all 'never was'."

"Chuck…" but he was talking to a dial tone. The first time he's heard that tone of voice from Chuck was at Stanford, after his expulsion for cheating. Then when he'd confronted him about his involvement with Jill and the last time was when he'd shown up at Sarah's hotel suite with rose and champagne and he'd answered the door along with Sarah. And now this time.

Chuck had resigned himself to a fate he couldn't alter. He'd given up on whatever he'd been doing. He was just floating in a California breeze waiting to see what would happen next. He would just go with it. And that attitude would be the end of him. And he knew it. And didn't care.

Bryce Larkin cared about Chuck. He cared enough about him to do what was necessary to keep him out of the intelligence business. They wanted Chuck. A prize plum for any agency. He knew what would become of him. He admired and respected Chuck. His loyalty, his belief systems, his devotion to his sister, all these things would be stripped away from by an uncaring entity in the name of the Greater Good.

He would cease to be Chuck Bartowski and there were so few of him in the world that the cost to Bryce and to Chuck seemed small in comparison to the good he could do.

But he sent him the email in spite of all his actions in the past. He did it because he always knew that Chuck Bartowski, his only real friend, a man he loved like a brother, could always be counted on to do the right thing, not necessarily the correct thing, but always the right thing. He would never feel guilty about his reasons, just the act itself.

'If I had a time machine, I'd change nothing. Sorry, Chuck, but you're the best one for the intersect. The only one in my mind. Sorry about Sarah, but it's fate, Chuck, your fate.'  


* * *

**Los Angeles, CA  
LAX**

The flight was on time. Sarah Walker strolled through the airport concourse killing time until she could kill her targets. The thought amused her. Anyone walking by the beauty would see her lip and wrist and think she'd been in an accident, a car wreck, perhaps. No one would suspect or imagine, not in their wildest dreams, that she'd done them to herself. Not even Sarah Walker.

She walked out and hailed a cab to take her to her hotel. She had things to do. And promises to keep. There was a spring in her step and a look of purpose on her face.


	7. The Final Flash Was Green

Please read notes at bottom.

**Sarah's Hotel  
Day 9  
Evening**

She hadn't realized she'd stayed there before. Or thought she did. She'd been in so many motels, pensions, and hotels she supposed that the chains had cookie-cutter rooms and they all looked alike.

The time difference was finally hitting her. Her adjustment to East Coast time had been simple. She'd been unconscious after the vicious attack by her teammates, the renegade NSA agent and the asset. Try as she might, she just couldn't remember exactly what he'd looked like. The doctor said that the memories of the attack might never return, the mind's way of defending itself. Even after reviewing photos and tapes she never could quite retain his image.

She took a quick shower, pulled on a t-shirt and crawled into bed, tired and jittery. She had no idea why she felt so on-edge. She lay on her side and at the very edge of sleep, reached over and put her arm around him and said, "G'night, Ch…"

The sudden flaring of the migraine almost caused her to vomit. She rolled off the bed and ran into the bathroom, but the nausea quickly subsided leaving only the headache. Taking the pill bottle, she shook out two of the little 'white-mites' and sat down on the floor to wait for the pain to subside to a manageable level. She had no idea what had just happened. It was like a faint image of a memory that fled before the wave of pain.

She took another shower. The flare up had caused her to sweat and she couldn't sleep all sweaty. It made her uncomfortable.

Redressing for sleep she approached the bed. She was trembling and had no idea what was causing it. She felt like she could hardly breathe. Was she having a heart attack? At 30? She walked around the room. By process of elimination she determined that as soon as she tried to get into bed the symptoms started and got worse the longer she sat on or lain in the bed. Feeling foolish and realizing that she was just probably tired from the trip and the hospital she slipped between the sheets and lay almost in a fetal position on her side. Almost on the edge of the bed.

She straightened out her legs until she could stretch out and began to relax until she realized the sheet had bunched up in the bottom of the bed around her feet. She couldn't stand that. She ripped off the cover and blanket and pulled down the sheet to straighten out the offending sheet and saw a woman's thong and a man's t-shirt.

"Oh, Jesus that's just gross." She got her hairbrush and flicked the thong to the floor using the handle. She grabbed the man's t-shirt and froze. The scent. So familiar. It was the smell of home and safety, warmth and love. She brought it to her nose and inhaled deeply. It was _his_ scent, _his_ smell that filled her nostrils.

She'd know it anywhere. _Whose scent is it, Sarah, whose? Try to remember._

The pain was so sudden and severe and without warning that she passed out.

**Day 10**

When she awoke she was lying on the carpet in a pool of her own vomit still clutching the t-shirt. She felt horrible, like her brain had been taken out, shaken and stirred then replaced but slightly off center. A weird feeling she'd felt occasionally since regaining consciousness in the hospital. Memories of last night came flooding back. She tossed the t-shirt as far away as her strength and position would allow. She reached over and grabbed her thong off the floor and padded into the bathroom to shower. Let housekeeping worry about cleaning up the puke.

She pulled off her vomit-stained t-shirt and thong. And froze again. She was holding the thong she found in the bottom of the bed and the one she'd just removed. They were identical, with identical laundry marks, same exclusive boutique brand and her size. The chances of such a coincidence were staggering. These were hers. How did they get in her bed in a hotel room she'd just checked into? And they were wrapped in a man's t-shirt. One that smelled with a man's heady scent. A special man with a special scent.

She could feel the twinges of another migraine coming on. She dry-swallowed two more white mites and got in the shower. She had better things to do with her day than wonder about panties and t-shirts.

**Casa Bartowski  
7am**

Chuck awoke as usual, disoriented for the briefest of time, just enjoying the moment before reality came crashing down on him. He was certain Sarah was out there watching him, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike a killing blow. And he didn't care. He missed her, and their time together had been far too brief for him. He didn't want months; he wanted years, decades, and centuries. He wanted '_**us'**_ back.

He'd made a promise and he planned on keeping it. _Until death us do part_.

He wanted Team Bartowski together again, fighting the good fights. He toyed with calling Beckman, taunting her, asking her how she was enjoying testifying before a congressional committee, if the Secretary of the Army had had anything nice to say or if she'd solved those pesky financial problems he'd created?

No, that probably wouldn't be a smart thing to do. After all, when this was over, Sarah would still have to answer to her and he didn't want her to have to pay the price for his actions. Not after she killed him. That would be cross enough to bear if she were to even remember.

Forgetting the time difference, he called Casey's cell. When he answered he seemed slightly out of breath. In the background he heard something that would have scarred him for life but now just made him glad for John Casey. "Oh, sugar bear, come back here, momma needs some more of the sugar…" It was his sister.

"WHAT?"

"Hey, Casey, just checking in. Still alive. Tell Ellie I said 'hi' and to remember that too much sugar isn't good for you."

"Damn you, Bartowski…" and in the background he heard "CHUCK? Omygodomygodomygodomygod."

"If I don't talk to you again, it's been… interesting. I spoke with Bryce yesterday. He saw the video. Said he would have my back if I needed it. I don't. So, sorry to bother you. I forgot about the time difference, Casey, really."

"Chuck, we'll be home in a few days. Watch your ass until then. There's been no sign of her here. I think even the NSA goons quit tailing us. That's a good sign. Maybe the political firestorm will solve all our problems?"

"Ya think? Nah, not with my luck. See you around John Xavier…" and he laughed at the mental picture of his sister the liberal and John "Republicans are all left-wing pussies" Casey. He was sorry he wouldn't be here for the next election and their fireworks. He wondered how they'd quit arguing enough to have sex.

To the casual observer who did not know Chuck Bartowski, it would appear that he'd given up. Nothing could be further from the truth. He just had resigned himself to his fate and his faith that his wife would never, could never, cause him harm.

**NSA/CIA Combined Ops  
**Los Angeles, CA**  
6pm**

She flashed her ID and did a quick retinal scan and went to the Comm Center to speak with General Beckman. She noticed that her reception was cool. Not one of the female agents or staff would look her in the eye. She assumed that was because she was a CIA agent in what was basically an NSA shop.

To her surprise, General Beckman's Chief of Staff took her teleconference. General Beckman was indisposed after spending the day testifying before a committee. Sarah figured it was probably about budgets. Well, that's why she got the big bucks.

"Agent Walker, your mission is on hold. There are several irregularities that have been brought to light and the sanctions have been lifted against Major Casey and Mr. Bartowski. You are directed to rejoin your team, Agent."

"I have my assignment. I was told one of you chair-warming politicians would try and interfere and I have instructions from your superior officer to ignore any abort orders."

"Agent Walker, Mr. Bartowski is yo…" and Sarah Walker cut him off secure in the knowledge that Diane Beckman had been correct in her assumptions. There were traitors everywhere, even in the NSA Headquarters.

She went to the armory and drew her weapons.

An older agent approached and addressed her directly; eye-to-eye, and said "You can find your target at Malibu Beach later this evening. We've been shadowing him for 5 days. He has the same routine, drives down there, parks, always goes to the same exact spot, sits and watches the sunset. He leaves when the tide starts turning. Never varies. He's always alone."

"Thank you, I'm surprised you're this cooperative with the CIA."

"Well, not all of us break the rules, Agent. I believe if you deliberately break protocol, break the rules, then whatever happens as a result is your 'reward'. Good luck, Agent Walker."

She didn't hear the senior agent say under his breath, 'as ye sow, so shall ye reap, you traitorous bitch.'

**Casa Bartowski**

**6:30pm**

Chuck believed in being prepared. And in leaving messages for his loved ones and friends. He'd spent most of the day composing what he called "see ya later" letters to Ellie, his dad (although he knew he'd never get), John Casey, Morgan and one for his wife.

Except for Ellie's letter, it took only an hour to write one of his letters. Ellie's took a couple of hours. He knew what he wanted to say, what he needed to say but had trouble finding the right words. His last phrase was the most difficult to write since it would the most difficult for her to do: "Ellie, please take care of Sarah for me. This isn't her fault and I know the guilt will kill her. Please, sis, for your little brother, promise you'll forgive her and always be her friend. Especially in the hours and days after I go. I love you, sis."

The hardest one of all was to Sarah. He didn't know how he could tell her that it wasn't her fault, that the guilt was Beckman's, that she needed to move on with her life and after a while, start living again.

"Sarah, I know this will be hard for you but you'll have Ellie and John to help you, to support you and to be your friend and companion. I will always love us, Sarah, until my soul dies and joins yours for all eternity. All my love, C."

No matter how he read it, phased it or read it out loud it sounded – hokey. Like a soap opera speech. So he added something from his lighter side: 'Sarah Bartowski, you snore, not loudly, more like a distant creek gurgling over the rocks. I'll miss seeing your sexy just-awake-bring-me-coffee look most of all."

He sealed all the letters, addressed them and left them on the coffee table in the living room. Hell, they'd spent all their time there anyway and Ellie or John would be sure to find them and make sure the 'cleaners' didn't scoop them up.

He took the picture out of his pocket. It had begun to crack from being removed, look at, put back again and he'd finally just kept it in his back pocket since it was getting to warm to wear a jacket.

He knew that this was the night it would all end. He felt a sense of dread and foreboding the likes of which paled anything before in his life. He was scared shitless. He didn't want to die. He didn't want his beloved wife to be the one to kill him. He knew that bitch Beckman would enjoy telling her the truth but if he knew his Sarah, she would not enjoy it much or long. He felt a modicum of comfort in that thought.

Casey had wanted him to wear a vest but he told him no because it was too hot, too uncomfortable and would only make things worse. If he was going to die at her hand better to keep it clean and quick – for her sake.

He'd put off leaving long enough. It was time to head for Malibu and his destiny. 'God, Bartowski, when did you take the melodrama pill?'

He got there just as he had every night for the past 5 nights. He parked John's Crown Vic and put the keys above the visor. No sense making Casey have to deal with the cops to get them back. Too many questions and too few acceptable answers.

He got out and made his way across the sand. _Showtime_.

**Casa Bartowski  
7:30pm**

Bryce Larkin was really getting pissed. Everyone he'd contacted at the CIA referred him to Beckman and her Chief of Staff said she was unavailable.

He picked the lock on Chuck's window and slipped in. No one home. Well, shit.

In absolute desperation and inspiration he called the one person he felt could best help him understand the situation.

"Hello?"

"Sarah, it's Bryce Larkin."

"_Bryce!_ Oh, baby, this is wonderful. Where are you? What are you doing? You shouldn't be breaking cover like this. Are we secure?"

Whoa. Where did that girly reaction come from? This wasn't the Sarah Walker he knew and… well, knew. She sounded more like a pimple-plagued teenager gushing over his phone call like he was the quarterback of the football team or something.

"Ah, Sarah, where are you right now? What are you doing?"

"I'm in Malibu but I'll be leaving later tonight on the redeye to D.C. and do a mission debrief. It won't take long and then we'll be together again, just like before only this time no stupid babysitting assignments. Tonight, honey, the babysitter is retiring the baby. Thank God."

"Agent Walker, listen to me. You have been refreshed. Beckman has set up Casey and Chuck to be eliminated and you're going to take the fall. It's a trap, Sarah, and you're going to do something horrible. You're going to kill your own hu…"

"NO, I'm following my orders for the greater good, Bryce. Honey, we'll be together just like last time, only better. Nothing will come between us again. I got to get a move on. I see him walking to the beach. Five minutes and I'm out of here."

She was at the beach. She was going to kill Chuck. The stupid bitch has been refreshed into Beckman's idea of the ideal blonde bimbo agent. If it weren't so tragic it would be funny. Sarah Walker, Bimbo Agent. But it wasn't funny. She was going to kill his best friend and her husband.

He knew he wouldn't make it in time but he had to try. He would be 5 minutes too late.

* * *

Sarah Walker _really_ looked at her phone for the first time. She knew it was hers but something was missing. Some of the speed dials were empty and all the photos were gone, except Bryce's from Cabo. No problem, she'd get Chuck to look at…and she bent over at the waist and threw up, fell to her knees and continued puking. It was almost uncontrollable. Finally she pulled herself up and walked shakily back to her car.

Every time she had a personal thought about…tonight's mark she got ill. Every time. Bryce said she'd been refreshed and he didn't know anything about her joining him. Something wasn't right here. She took 4 white mites and rinsed her mouth out with a bottle of water.

She'd see if Beckman could shed any light on this situation tomorrow at the debrief. She checked her weapon, spotted her mark and set out to end this babysitting gig with certain finality. She had hoped to tag John Casey as well but he seemed to have dropped off the planet. Someone else would get that privilege. She'd take out the geek and move on. _Nerd, Sarah, not Geek._ She whirled around expecting to see the mark behind her but no one was there. But she heard his voice, she was sure of it.

The fifty yards to the mark seemed like fifty miles. She didn't seem to be able to make any headway in this sand. He was just sitting there, just like he did every time he had something to think about. She knew he loved the sunsets and hoped to see the green flash once before he died. She had always loved his optimism about things.

She pulled her M1911 from behind her back and held it out, aiming in the general direction of the mark. It seemed to weigh ten pounds not 28 ounces fully loaded

In fact, she was having trouble keeping her sight picture and her focus.

A light sea breeze tousled her hair and she had the sudden urge to go back to the car and get her hair brush so she wouldn't looked mussed for him. After all, he'd waited all day for her. She tried to hurry, but couldn't seem to speed up. Frustrating. She had to meet the love of her life, Bryce the RatBastard, and she was _whoa, where'd that come from_?

Finally, after what seemed hours, she was a mere 5 feet from him. At this range, a headshot was best.

Chuck knew she was there. He could imagine renegade tresses blowing across her face, framing it. He used to love burying his face in her freshly shampooed hair.

He heard the 'snick' of the safety. He sighed.

"I always wanted to see the green flash before I died, Sarah. One of many things I wanted to do before I left. But somehow, it was always the most immediate, maybe because I was so close to it, could almost touch it." Another sigh.

"I'll make it easy for you, Sarah Walker Bartowski, I won't turn around. Just do it and be gone. Just don't fuck it up, Sarah. I trust you to do it right. You asked me that once, right here. Well, I do trust you, I always have and I always will, no matter how long that may be. Sarah, it's always been us, not you and me. It's us. Now quit dragging your ass, Sarah, and kill me and be done with it."

The sound of the shot spooked a flock of seagulls and their raucous flight seemed to slow and then stop in mid-air as Sarah Walker Bartowski slowly folded in on herself and collapsed on the warm sand.

Her husband had fallen forward with the impact and lay on the sand, one hand out stretched to the ocean and the other holding their blood-splattered wedding portrait.

Bryce Larkin was just yards away, running down the beach from the parking lot yelling for Sarah to please stop and for Chuck to get up and run.

Out to sea, the sun dipped below the horizon until just a tiny sliver of its arc could be seen and the light was refracted by the calm ocean and anyone who was looking would have seen the green flash.

**A/N: There's at least another chapter to this. So just hang in there. Tomorrow if I get back in time.**

**Armor-Plated-Rat**


	8. Forsaking All Others

**A/N: This is NOT repeat NOT the last chapter. I just thought that after all the way-out stuff a little dose of 'normal' might be interesting.**

**These places all exist. They are real. For God's sake don't speed in the Springs. The tickets are a major source of revenue for the town government and they are expensive. Obama should be borrowing money from these people, not the Chinese. **

Armor-Plated-Rat

* * *

Cedars-Sinai Hospital  
Los Angeles, CA  
Day 10 9:45pm

EMTs radioed ahead that they were in-bound with one male GSW neck in critical condition with a request to have at least 10 units of A positive blood on hand in the ER and one female unresponsive and catatonic.

Both were employees of the United States government according to a passerby who also happened to be an employee of the CIA. Said passerby notified the CIA and NSA that the intersect was down and directed them to the website with the Walker tapes on it as explanation and to the hospital where the two VIP employees had been taken.

Within 20 minutes all admissions to the hospital were suspended, an entire floor of the hospital was vacated and made accessible only to authorized personnel who had been thoroughly vetted by the NSA and CIA operatives on station. The two victims were examined in the ER and transferred to the secure floor. There were no other patients.

Bryce Larkin knew people. He called a former 'friend' who happened to be a reporter for a local TV station and directed him to the web site where he could 'find' the Walker tapes. He also told him if he even hinted at the identity of his informant that his wife would awaken to discover the her husband's genitalia had been removed and sewn into the mouth of his lifeless corpse while she slept next to him. There was never any attribution. It was all written off to anonymous and concerned citizens.

He also leaked the identity of the shooting victim and the shooter without any inference to the intersect project. A nice tie-in to the Walker tapes.

John Casey and Ellie Bartowski were contacted and driven to a US government aircraft and were currently en route from Maui to LAX where they would be met and escorted to the hospital.

All this had been accomplished by 10:30pm. Bryce Larkin disappeared at 10:45pm and was officially listed as MIA presumed KIA six months later. That was the government's story and they would maintain that façade throughout 6 months of Congressional hearings and Blue Ribbon Panels appointed by the Powers That Be to give the impression that this was all a rogue operation with blame falling squarely on the shoulders of General Diane Beckman.

The 11o'clock news in LA had the highest ratings in their history. They opened up with the shooting story promising a peek at the tapes at the end of the broadcast. There was enough hint of sex, spies and violence that the normally 30 minute production was expanded to 60 minutes then 90 minutes as more information and "expert commentary' became available. The station ran a warning every 5 minutes that viewer discretion was advised and that children under the age of 17 should be forbidden to watch. The tapes ran, doctored to pixilate the face of the victim, every 15 minutes.

At 4:17am Charles Bartowski was pronounced dead and his remains turned over to a private funeral home for cremation. He left no next of kin.

The following morning, Sarah Walker committed suicide by the simple expedient of squeezing the bag holding the saline solution until a bolus formed in her heart. She also was cremated.

The plane carrying Eleanor Bartowski, MD and John X. Casey had reported an emergency situation 1,100 nautical miles from LAX and was never heard from again. Extensive searches failed to find any signs of the wreckage.

Someone was tying up loose ends.

* * *

Eureka Springs, AR  
February 2009

Casey Johnson accepted the vacant position as Chief of Police of this NW Arkansas resort town, population 3,268, known as the "Wedding Chapel Capital of the South". The town doubled in size every weekend and periodically quadrupled as it was also the "Motorcycle Mecca" of the South. It is perhaps best known for having trollies and no red lights. Johnson was a former Air Force security officer and came well recommended. He also was known to be a mean poker player as well as a ladies' man affectionately known among the local ladies as 'SugarBear'.

In March, Charlie Barton accepted a teaching position at the local high school doubling in both computer science and physics. He was a gifted teacher with a ready smile. He only taught 4 days per week since he was also an Iraqi veteran who still required physical therapy for a severe wound to the neck. He would stay until 9pm Monday through Wednesday nights tutoring both gifted and struggling students. Despite the best efforts of the local ladies, he did not date. Every Thursday afternoon he would leave on his motorcycle, weather permitting, for Little Rock where he spent the weekend in extensive and intensive physical therapy. If it rained, he borrowed the Chief's truck and drove.

Charlie Barton had no way of knowing that his every action and move was under constant surveillance by the NSA handlers sent to protect him without his knowledge. He was still the intersect. He would still be guarded.

* * *

Verterans' Hospital  
Psychiatric Unit  
Little Rock, AR

Chuck Bartowski parked his motorcycle in the handicapped slot and meandered into the unit, signed in and assumed the position he would keep until he left at approximately 10pm Sunday night for the trip back to the Springs. He had been coming here since accepting his teaching position in Eureka Springs. Before that he'd been a regular fixture in her room, never touching her, never kissing her, just maintaining eye contact and talking softly to her, reminding her that he loved her and would be waiting for her when she was ready.

He knocked on the door frame of his wife's room more as a courtesy and as an announcement of his arrival. He walked over to her bedside, leaned over and said "Hi, baby, it's me, Chuck. I'm back for a while. I'll just sit here and be with you. Let me know if you need anything, love, I'll just be over here."

The first visit was horrific. When he knocked at the door her eyes found his and she started to shake. When he walked over to her bedside he could see that her eyes were filled with tears. When he gently took her hand in his, well, she broke 3 of his fingers and his wrist before the attendant could help him. Neither of them made a sound. He told people at the school that he'd dumped the bike during a rain squall and that explained the injuries.

On his second visit he just sat down, spoke quietly to her, told her that he loved her and that she could talk to him anytime she felt like it. He'd just sit and wait if it was OK with her. She didn't say 'no' so he sat. She didn't say anything at all. When he left Sunday night he stood directly in her line of sight and said "We're us, baby mine, we'll always be us. I'll see you in a few days. Call me if you need anything."

The same act was played out on the next 4 visits.

On the his seventh visit he knocked, said hello, and then went over to her bedside and took out a t-shirt he'd worn to sleep in several nights. He left it beside her, not touching her. He blew her a kiss and said "Sarah, I'll be back next week. Call me if you need anything or just want to talk. Here's your iPhone. I programmed my new numbers into it for you. Casey says 'hello'. There were no tears this time. But still no smile and no spoken words either.

The next visit was a repeat of the seventh. No response.

"Doctor, what's the prognosis on my wife? There's no change from week to week and I'm starting to get discouraged. What more can I do? I want my wife back. I need her back."

The doctor smiled and popped a tape into a vcr. It showed Sarah Walker after he'd left the night he'd given her the t-shirt. She was holding it to her nose, breathing deeply. His scent. And she put the t-shirt under her pillow, gave a small smile and went to sleep without drugs for the first time.

"That's progress, Chuck, real progress. This improvement is remarkable. By the way, you want me to take off the cast?"

The next visit he brought her a 'fresh' t-shirt and some pictures of them together, her with Ellie and Casey, and a copy of their wedding portrait in a frame. He set it on the night table turned so she could see it and he sat down. She stared at the picture until he left for the night and then she took the new t-shirt and breathed in his scent. She threw the old one on his chair perhaps 'suggesting' he recycle it and bring it back.

The following week he brought her a new 'fresh' t-shirt, some new pictures of Casey and Ellie and her engagement and wedding rings he'd had removed from the safety deposit box and FedEx'd to him.

She looked at them for a long time, pushing the engagement ring around with her fingertip but watching him out of the corner of her eye as he 'ignored her'. It finally dawned on him that she could see he wasn't wearing a ring. He unbuttoned his shirt and took his ring off the chain around his neck and put it on. He expected to see some reaction but she was suddenly fixated on the scar on his neck.

The doctor came in with a sedative. When she saw the partially-healed scar she'd begun to weep soundlessly and that broke Chuck's heart and caused more emotional pain than anything since the beach incident. He sat with her, holding her hand in his but refused to cry. There would be time enough for that when he died.

* * *

The NSA required a periodic download to keep the intersect current and up-to-date and the medics there wanted to ensure that the graft on his exterior carotid was not developing interior scarring that could lead to a thickening of the arterial walls and narrowing of the artery increasing his already astronomical risk of stroke due to the pure physical effect of flashing. He missed a visit when he flew to FT Meade for the update and physical.

He was in Memphis grabbing a connector to St. Louis when he received the urgent call to immediately go to the Little Rock facility and meet with Sarah's doctor. Nothing more was said. Apparently the flunky wasn't cleared for the information or was just being a typical government employee. The 12 mile cab ride from the joke of an airport to the Psych Unit seemed to last a lifetime. He fiddled with the clean dressing on his throat and mentally slew the driver who thought you really stopped for red, not just slowed down.

"Hey, Chuck, she's OK, so get your blood pressure down. You don't want to mess up all that plumbing work in your neck. Seriously, she's OK, in fact, a lot better than OK. Go on in, see for yourself."

The door to her room was closed and a security guard was sitting in a chair across from the door. He sported a rapidly swelling right eye and gave Chuck a look that said 'Where have you been?' Or maybe 'YOU go in there, I don't make enough!"

Chuck knocked at the door and opened it a crack. Look before you leap was the old axiom and he believed that approaching Sarah Bartowski in less than stealth mode would be suicidal until he knew what to expect.

He couldn't see anything. He was so tired of all of this. The NSA had been nice enough, considering they'd been told that if he complained they'd all be wearing heavy weather gear for the rest of their contracts weighing whale shit in the Bering Sea. No, he was tired of having to jump through all these hoops when all he wanted to do was hold her hand, take her for a ride on his Harley and have a quiet talk. But she didn't talk. Hadn't uttered a sound since the beach incident. Rarely looked him in the eye for more than a second and never let him touch her while she was awake – at least not without consequences.

She was dressed in blue jeans and a white tank top. Her long blonde hair was in a pony tail and she was sitting in his chair looking at a series of new photographs and a thick stack of paper. When he knocked on the door frame she looked up and saw him. She made eye contact, got up and walked directly over to him and stopped about 18 inches away, the closest he'd been to her since this whole damned nightmare started.

He didn't know what to do. Hug her, kiss her, wait for her to do something, he just didn't know. She preempted him. She touched the dressing on his neck with her left hand and he saw she was wearing her rings. She looked at him with those electric blue eyes and said "Ssssorrrry Ch..uck."

It was too much. He wasn't physically prepared at all for the onslaught of emotions he felt, the joy and relief and also the sadness. Unfortunately his eyes conveyed all this and more in the first second of eye contact after she spoke.

A tear slipped over top of his emotional dam, then another and another until the dam burst and inundated him with all the tears and emotional frustration he'd bottled up for the past four months.

"Shhhhh, don't cry. P-p-please?"

* * *

For the next 3 months Sarah attacked speech therapy with the same single-minded focus she used on missions for the CIA. She did not fail and, as usual, her performance exceeded all expectations except in one area.

Sarah Walker was speechless. Literally. Her lips moved, her tongue functioned within normal operating parameters, her larynx functioned and her brain was fully connected to her speech center. She just did not know what to say.

"Well, say something. Anything."

"I don't know what to say. I've never, ever, considered leaving the CIA. It's the only place I've felt 'comfortable' and it's all I've been trained to do, Chuck. Why would you even suggest such a thing? Just because you've found your 'niche' is no reason I should give up a rewarding and exciting career. You can still be a teacher and I can still be a spy. I don't see any conflict in that. You're asking me to give up my life so you can have yours. I don't think that's fair of you, or fair to me."

He didn't know what to say. He had never considered the possibility that she would want to stay in a life that had cost them both so much.

So he didn't say anything. He just kissed her on the cheek and left the Unit for the last time. Instead of taking his wife home, he was saying goodbye. She'd already made arrangements for a return to duty without any discussion with him, just like he was her damned asset again and she was the big, bad, CIA Agent and knew what was best for them.

Reality sucks.

Armor-Plated-Rat


	9. The Dead Tie The Knot no loose ends

ThePromise9

A/N: I'm done.

* * *

**Hwy 171  
Arkansas  
May 2009**

Chuck had pushed the big Harley as fast as it seemed capable of and still it wasn't enough. He needed to escape this reality and speed seemed to be the best way. No, he wasn't suicidal, he just wanted one thing, just one, to at least _seem_ right.

He roared through little places in the road with names such as Toad Creek (pop. 93), Watershed (pop. 54) and Grundyville (pop 106). The cluster of buildings and houses whirled by while their populations were announced on state-provided information road signs. Like the average person would want to know that Beulah's Hollow (pop. 44) actually had a population of 43 since Ezra Sanderson cut his foot off with a chain saw and bled to death last winter while cutting firewood. Tragedy in fly-over country. Still, Chuck found such places peaceful reminders of gentler and less complicated or complex times.

And now he pondered the question he'd been avoiding for the last 70 miles. How do dead people get divorced?

* * *

**Veterans' Hospital  
Psychiatric Unit  
Little Rock, AR  
May 2009**

"Is that everything?"

"Yeah, that's everything. The Unit will send that stuff back to Chuck in Eureka Springs. I don't know what he'll do with it but I sure can't take it with us. It's his problem since he brought it over here in the first place. I can't believe I'm free of this place. What a nightmare it's been."

"It's been hell on Chuck. He's been busting his ass teaching and tutoring, coming here and spending every spare moment with you and still getting refresher downloads for the intersect. On top of that he still 'consults' for the agencies flashing on stuff they send him. I don't know how he's kept body and soul together, but he did it all for you, Sarah."

'Yeah, and you've shown all the gratitude in the world to him. Do you even think about the risk he takes downloading and flashing now with that bulge in his carotid? Of course you don't. Because _he never told you_, did he? He thinks he has to be a hero to be worthy of the Great Sarah Walker. Sometimes I don't think you're worthy of him, Sarah Walker.' Bryce was growing tired of her attitude towards his friend.

"He's always been good at multi-tasking. Must be the Geek in him coming through. _Nerd, Sarah, not Geek._She turned around and said, "Chuck, I meant…" but there was no one there. She knew what she heard. His voice. She must be tired.

Bryce Larkin's spidey sense was on high alert. First she screws up the plan that he and Chuck had worked out with the Powers That Be, then she totally blows off the fact that her _husband_ had almost died to protect her and tore his life apart to be with her during her recovery and now she calls him a fucking _GEEK_? _He'd promised his friend he'd have his back. And he would. _

_This_ Sarah Walker was a cheap imitation of the real deal. Must be the effects of the refresher. He'd have to talk to some techs when they got back to D.C. about clearing out the crap in her mind and restoring her to her senses. This Sarah Walker was almost as bad as the pimple-plagued one.

"Let's go, Bryce. We have a flight to D.C. to catch. I can't wait to get home to our apartment and just do anything I want to for a week until refresher training begins. I've been out of the field too long as it is."

* * *

**The Hog Wallow Bar & Grille  
Eureka Springs, AR  
1am**

Casey, now Chief Casey Johnson aka SugarBear, listened in rapt disbelief as Chuck told him of his day with Sarah. Instead of a happy reunion for the 3 former teammates it was now a 2-man drinking bout and Casey was about 4 Bushmill's behind his younger friend.

Y'know, John X., I think she's one of those Arnold Schwartkopferstein things, the metal robots with skin, sent here from the future to ruin mine. Beckman is still fucking with me, John X. and she's so far underground she's sitting on nickel iron. I can't believe Sarah's forgotten me, us, like it was just flushed down the memory hole of her mind."

Casey turned red. The 'memory hole of her mind' was something he had said to Chuck at the very beginning of this mess. He had been trying to taunt him but had failed. Thank God for that.

Chuck suddenly paled and turned to Casey, almost falling off he swivel stool and grabbing the bar for balance.

He looked around furtively and said quietly "Casey, you know how mission-driven Sarah is, do you think she was using this all to better control me, John X? I mean, shit, would Sarah Walker have gone so far into her deep cover to have actually married a loser geek like me just to accomplish her mission? Would she?"

Casey was rapidly losing focus of Chuck's points and so he was slow to answer. He was thinking and even 6 ounces of Bushmill's ahead of Casey he could stay ahead of him in the mind department.

"Never mind, my friend, you just answered my question." Chuck slid off the barstool suddenly sober.

"Casey, school's almost done and I'm free for the summer and I'm thinking about a road trip. Think the PTB would shat their collective drawers if I told them 'hey, I'm on vacation until August?"

"Yep, you'd be vacationing in a nice dank cellar right along side Beckman."

Chuck's visage darkened noticeably. "It would be worth it for what she's done to my uh, done to Sarah. Think the General would appreciate a conjugal visit with a roto-rooter?"

Casey laughed. The Bitch had better pray that none of Team Bartowski's surviving members got her alone.

"Hopefully the guards are taking care of her needs. I saw one once. Her nickname was 'Large Marge' and she had a Jim Crocce moustache and a tattoo on her arm that said "Lez Luv". Gave me nightmares."

"Well, goodbye, Major Casey," and staggered out of the bar. He was drunk, knew it and since his hog didn't have training wheels or outriggers, he walked home to his apartment.

Twenty minutes later a very sober Casey Johnson was talking with Chuck's handlers. They'd have to be especially vigilant this next week.

It was his 1st wedding anniversary in 5 days. And he's referred to him as "Major Casey" - a red flag. Chuck Bartowski did not make mistakes like that. Not even drunk like he was. He urged them not to underestimate the skills of Chuck Bartowski. The man had an evil genius side to him. Just ask former General Beckman.

If he went off the grid this time, there would be no deals or mercy. Just a bullet.

* * *

**Continental Flight 331  
Little Rock/Memphis/Washington  
2pm**

Bryce Larkin was deep in thought. He had to somehow break through this veneer covering Walker's mind and find out what the hell was wrong in there. Did she marry Chuck for love? Duty? He loved her. No doubt. But did she love _Chuck_?

Sarah Walker was not deep in thought. Her mind was a blank awaiting some stimuli. Her eyes were closed feigning sleep but her mind was waiting, ready to respond as required based upon the incoming stimuli.

"Sarah, are you awake?"

"Yes, I'm awake. Just resting my eyes. I have the beginnings of one of those headaches I've told you about. I don't know why. I've been sitting here trying to keep my mind blank and restful."

"Why did you marry Bartowski? Did you love him? Or did you think it would make controlling your mark easier? Just curious." These were loaded questions. Why, did, think. All action words. Especially 'did' since it was past tense.

"He was becoming difficult to control. He wanted more from a relationship that was already on the verge of crossing the line. I could not become compromised. When he asked me in Las Vegas after bringing down the laundry operation I guess it was sort of a reward for him for the good job he'd done. Nothing more, really. Why do you want to know these things? You're not jealous of a guy like Chuck Bartowski, are you, Bryce?"

"Why was it necessary to control him? He was always a help. Sure he got into trouble but more times than not Sarah, he saved _**your**_ _team's_ ass. That makes him special, not difficult."

Bryce could see that Walker was becoming agitated. "He wouldn't stay in the c-c-car. He wasn't trained and he c-c-could have gotten us all killed. He w-w-wanted more from our relationship than a h-h-handler can give. He w-w-wanted m-m-me to love him b-b-baaaack. It was easier to g-g-go to the Justice of the P-p-p-peace than to argue with him. I-I-I m-m-m-ade us go to a priest. B-b-b-efore G-g-g-g-od."

Bryce was elated. She had wanted the marriage too. That's why she wanted the priest. So no one would think she was playing him around.

"So, Sarah, do you love my friend, your husband, Chuck Bartowski?"

She didn't answer. Bryce could see her struggling with something that was just too strong for her. The scream brought stewardesses running. She was sceaming and vomiting and gasping out "I won't forget him. His name is Chuck, Chuck Bartowski, and he is my husband and my love."

* * *

**Eureka Springs, AR  
Office of Dewey, Sooem & Howe, Attorneys at Law  
2:55pm**

"Yes, Mr. Barton, everything that is said in here is privileged communication and cannot be divulged even under threat of Contempt of Court."

"Ok, but how about if someone had your mother and says 'Tell me what he said or the bitch dies'"

**Eureka Springs, AR  
_OUTSIDE_ the Office of Dewey, Sooem & Howe, Attorneys at Law  
3:00pm**

"Well, that wasn't quite the answer I expected" said a surprised Chuck Bartowski to himself.

The man known as Charlie Barton got on his motorcycle and headed out of town. School was over for the summer and despite what Casey told him, it was time for a road trip. He was going to go get answers from the source. He was going to FT Meade and chat up the new director. Maybe the NSA would spring for an attorney. After all, it was their damned fault in the first place.

**The Hog Wallow Bar & Grille  
Eureka Springs, AR  
10:30pm**

Chief Casey Johnson always stopped in on his way home. He was adapting quite well to his new life. He pushed up to the bar just as Billy Bob Dewey the sleaze lawyer delivered his punch line. "'And then Charlie Barton asked me "well, how about if someone had your mother and says 'tell me what he said or the bitch dies'".

Once the laughter died down the Chief pulled Billy Bob aside and said "what exactly did Charlie ask you, Billy Bob?" Something about the look on his face cut the joke from his mouth. "He asked about client confidentiality. He wants to divorce his wife but he says it's complicated and he can't explain unless there's no way I can't tell nobody about anything said."

"Oh, shit. Exactly when was this?"

"Today about 3pm, why?"

Casey got on the horn to Chuck's handlers. "You two done playing house? Where's the intersect?"

**Eureka Springs Police Department  
Eureka Springs, AR  
2am**

"No, Mr. Director of the NSA, you listen to _me. _It was your predecessor who caused this shit storm and it's going to be your successor who fixes it if you don't lift the sanction from Chuck Bartowski and get that Dr. Mengele wanna-be to reexamine Sarah Walker Bartowski and get that shit out of her head. What's it going to be? A Congressional Committee? Evening news? A low-yield nuke in your parking spot? You know he can do any of those things. Glad you understand and will comply, sir. It's good having a Republican in your position for a change."

"Chuck, you owe me big-time, son. And I intend to collect. Good luck, Chuck."

FT Meade, MD  
HQ, NSA  
4:40pm

A dirty and tired Chuck Bartowski pulled up at the main gate of the NSA compound in FT Meade. He was stopped by an Army MP who demanded ID and purpose of visit. Chuck told him the purpose of his visit was classified way above his pay grade and that knowledge of his very existence would put the MP and his family at great personal risk.

The MP shook his head and thought "Jesus, another nutball."

"Sir, I'm sorry but you may not enter without complying with my request." He didn't think a filthy biker was exactly expected by anyone currently in the employ of the NSA.

"OK, Private, which one of these meets with your requirements?" The MP looked up from his clipboard into the face of one Charles Irving Bartowski, NSA ID card with the privileged red border. But perhaps it was the M1911 pistol shoved into his crotch that proved the tiebreaker.

"Y-Y-Y-You may pass, Agent Bartowski. Sorry for any delays."

"No problem. Have a nice day." He replaced the ID and the pistol, restarted his Harley and roared into the medical unit. He'd been there before, many times, and was surprised the MP hadn't recognized him.

In fact the MP had been on duty 3 times and passed Chuck through each time but he wasn't riding a Harley or looking like he hadn't had a good shower since Clinton was president.

Now that he was here, he had no idea what to do next. None whatsoever.

**Continental Flight 331  
4:45pm Reagan Int'l Airport**

Bryce Larkin had the director of the NSA on the phone. He was explaining the situation with Sarah Walker when he heard the director's secretary announce 'Charles Bartowski , Director.'

"Director, Sarah Walker is Sarah Walker Bartowski. Don't let Chuck leave. We're coming to him. She's in some kind of fugue state because of what your brain-drainers did. Let me warn you, Director, if you fail to remedy this situation, the man you're looking at is quite capable of starting a war and winning. Don't dick around with him. He's good people and will be your best friend or worst nightmare. Ask Diane Beckman. She fucked with his family and he destroyed her in 9 days. You're no match for him."

Chuck apologized profusely for his appearance and style of entry but explained that he needed the agency's help in obtaining a divorce. He spent the next 2 hours explaining everything to the new director who took notes, asked questions and on at least two occasions had tears in his eyes.

"Chuck, this is the most incredible thing I've ever heard. This isn't 1/10 of the briefing I got when I took this job. You've help explain why we're losing female agents, why resignations and retirements are at all time high levels. I'll help you in any way I can if you would at least consider one small favor for me."

"What's the favor? Nuke Iran? Find out what the deal is on _**Lost**_? Can you be a little less obtuse, sir?"

"Help me fix this agency, Chuck. I need people with integrity and who are tomorrow minded. You've shown a lot of us what's wrong. Help us maximize what's right. Will you at least consider it?"

"I'm a teacher now. Not an administrator. Call up Bryce Larkin at the CIA. He will do the job and won't worry about the bodies. He's career CIA and will probably end up marrying his partner. He's a good man, totally unreasonable but a good man to have your back. If he says 'no' call me and I'll get you a replacement. I don't figure I'll be around all that long. Between the thing in my neck and my motorcycle, well, it'll be a fine ride to the end, Director. But I'll still do the flashing for you. And the upgrades. Just consider Larkin."

The Director finally understood what John Casey had meant. He inspired people through personal loyalty and example.

"Chuck, your wife is being brought here as we speak. She suffered a mental breakdown on the flight here from Little Rock. Her partner was on the phone when you were announced and he demanded I hold you here..."

The M1911 was steady in his hand. "Put your hands flat on the desk, Director. Make any sudden moves and you'll envy Diane Beckman. When will you people stop fucking around with my family? You've destroyed my marriage, although I think that was on it's way out anyhow. She just married me to control me and the intersect. Stupid me thought it was love. But for her it was duty. Her partner is Bryce Larkin, by the way. But my recommendation still stands."

"Now, I'm going to leave. You won't be able to find me. You'll never hear from me again. Director, don't make me hurt anyone but if you guys try to restrain me in any way, your recruiting problems are the least of your worries.

"Thank you for your time, sir. If Larkin isn't to your liking, look up John Xavier Casey. He's a bigger prick than you'd imagine but he and I always saw eye-to-eye on the big picture."

The entire briefing and subsequent conversations were being monitored throughout the executive suite. Every word was recorded but was also listened to by scores of average people.

When Chuck backed out of the Director's office he was hit by 7 trank darts; instinctively he turned and raised his weapon and was hit 4 more times resulting in a massive overdose. He was still trying to find an enemy to take with him when he lost consciousness and collapsed in a smelly heap on the floor.

**FT Meade, MD  
NSA Secure Medical Facility**

"Casey, why won't he see me? It's been 3 days. Is he punishing me for what happened on the beach? Is it because of something Beckman did? Have I done something? I don't understand, Casey, and no one will tell me a damned thing."

"Bryce Larkin. Chuck said Bryce called that night and said he 'had his back'. He's the one who called 911. He's the one that thought up this whole scheme. It might have worked except that Chuck knew you were going back to Bryce. Going deep cover. And you confirmed it when you said he could teach and you could spy. What kind of marriage is that, Sarah Walker? He thinks you played him for control by marrying him. He said you're so committed and so focused on the mission that marriage was just a means to an end. He actually admires that in you. Go figure."

"Casey, he knows that isn't true. He knows that the marriage is real. I know it's real. My feelings for him are real. Why won't he see me? Tell me how he feels and let us talk about it. I just don't understand. You know what the refresher did. Why doesn't he understand that it wasn't me who wouldn't go with him, that it wasn't me."

"You need to hear something. A recording made right before those NSA idiots overdosed him. He's flat-lined 4 times since the beach. FOUR times, Walker. Maybe he's afraid next time will be the one that kills him. In spite of what these people think, there is no 'Super Chuck', there's just the guy who wanted the girl he couldn't have. The guy who thought he had to be a hero just for you to see him. I'm tired of talking to you or anyone else about this. There is one thing Chuck asked me and I couldn't answer. "

"He asked me if Sarah Walker would have gone so far into her deep cover protecting the intersect that she would actually marry a loser geek like him just to accomplish her mission?"

"Nerd, Casey, not geek."

"His words not mine. I couldn't answer him. To many "Yes" precedents. Not enough 'No's."

"Listen to this recording. While you were being brought here for treatment, they tried to prevent him from leaving. A misunderstanding on his part but warranted based on his history with us spooks. Listen to it and if you still want to talk to him, I'll get Larkin to arrange it."

* * *

Sarah listened and analyzed the high points. She would need to understand his perspective to beat him. She would win this war.

"_He's career CIA and will probably end up marrying his partner…. I don't figure I'll be around all that long. Between the thing in my neck and my motorcycle…" then the Director speaking to Chuck "Her partner was on the phone…and he demanded I hold you here..." then Chuck again "You've destroyed my marriage, although I think that was on it's way out anyhow. She just married me to control me and the intersect. Stupid me thought it was love. But for her it was duty."_

Sarah was angry. She was angry because everyone seemed to have forgotten that she had no say so in her actions. That she was controlled and manipulated. That the 'programming' made her do and say what people saw and heard. It wasn't her. It wasn't Sarah Bartowski.

She found Casey and Larkin sitting in the cafeteria drinking coffee. "When were either of you assholes going to tell me about the thing in his neck? What's this about him not being around all that long and why does he think I'm going to marry my partner when I'm already married in the eyes of Man and God? We got married twice, once for the rule of Man and then once in God's eyes. I wanted to satisfy my own fears and show all of them that I was marrying him for love not out of the need to control him."

"I love my husband and I want to see him and you have 5 minutes to make it happen before I go Bartowski on your sorry asses. Make it happen. And someone get one of these necrophiliac doctors to explain to me in simple terms what's wrong with Chuck."

"Oh, and the next time someone forgets to tell me my husband has died FOUR FRIGGIN' TIMES, I will make him envy Diane Beckman, is that clear?"

John X. Casey snapped to attention, years of training recognizing command authority. "Yes, ma'am, crystal." No one laughed. No one dared.

* * *

She got her medical briefing. The doctor described it as a bad tire getting over-inflated and blowing out. The simplicity horrified her. The possibility terrified her. She insisted on knowing if sex, flashing, anger, or mundane things like high blood pressure could cause it. While she was relieved in some instances, not in all.

"So if he has a really intense flash, one that contains emotional triggers, he could experience arterial failure?"

"Yes. But not real everyday activities like running, sex, extreme exercise, or even recreational drug use. Although no one condones such things, you need to know the hazards."

"Agent Walker, we monitor Chuck's injured carotid wall monthly when he updates. It's strong, not narrowing at all, although diet will forestall natural narrowing due to cholesterol or arteriosclerosis. His arteries are fine, Agent Walker, it's his heart some of us who've been monitoring this situation are worried about."

"It's Bartowski, not Walker. What about his heart? Has he had problems? How could I have missed them?"

"Severe problems. You weren't here when it first occurred, you were in Refreshing. That's the first time his heart was broken."

"I…see. Well, we'll work on that, he and I. Is there anything else?"

"Isn't that enough?"

* * *

"No monitoring of any kind, no cameras, no voice bugs, no laser scanners, no putting your ear to the keyhole, understand me?"

Sarah got her alone time with her husband.

He was off the respirator. It had been more of a precaution than a necessity anyway. She disconnected all the leads to the ECG and EKG monitors. She left the IV's in but that was it. She'd had a nurse remove his catheter since she didn't know how and didn't want anything to happen to… well, she had plans for it for the next 4 or 5 decades, maybe even longer.

She stripped off all her clothes and his hospital gown. She crawled into bed and wrapped herself around him as firmly but gently as possible and treated herself to his scent from the source, not his t-shirts. She fell asleep and rested naturally for the first time since this nightmare had begun. No dreams, no nightmares, just a deep healing sleep.

* * *

The nightmare began like a tsunami, first drawing back the water and then rushing in with a series of crushing blows.

'_You'll never get her back, you know that. Let her go. You're not good enough for her. Look at her, she's hot, a fox, smart, sexy and she's a spy. Let her be the best with the best, Chuck, you selfish bastard. Let her go with Bryce. He's been a true friend, now repay him.'_ He didn't recognize the voice but it seemed calm and reassuring.

Chuck was watching them dance the Tango and the voice became more seductive and reasonable_. 'Look how they move as one, depending on each other and relying only on themselves. They have the gestalt you and Sarah Larkin never had or would have had. Release her, free her, allow her to achieve her destiny, allow her to be Sarah Larkin, Queen to his King, royalty of the spy world. And you, the court jester, you were and are the ultimate jest.'_

The voice was now a hiss, like the snake in the Garden of Eden._ 'I should have killed you at the beach but I was weak. I'm stronger now, intersect, and you won't escape me this time. Neither will she – unless you release her. Release her to me - the Greater Good. Releasssssse Sarah Larkin.'_

Sarah woke to a change in Chuck. He was trembling and his scent now contained a smell she'd learned to recognize in herself - _fear_.

"Chuck, hey, Chuck, wake up, it's OK Chuck. I'm here. No one's going to hurt you. I'm not going anywhere, baby, I'm where I belong."

She ran her fingertips over his jaw and down his neck to the scar of the gunshot wound.

Sarah traced the outline of the scar with the pad of a fingertip. So close. A matter of millimeters one way a miss, the other, a kill. Thank God she'd missed.

Her fingertips touched the chain he wore, traced it until she found his wedding ring. She removed it from the chain and placed it on his finger.

_With this ring I thee wed, Chuck Bartowski, until death us do part. Happy anniversary, husband mine. The next 40 years will be better, I promise._

Epilogue

Charlie Barton returned to Eureka Springs in late August alone. People who knew him recognized a change in the young man, a sense of serenity and peace that had been absent when he first arrived. Most wrote it off to finally adjusting to the trauma of his military service. Others noted the deep tan, the added muscle and sun-bleach hair and figured he'd just had a helluva vacation.

He paid cash money for a home perched on the side of a mountain with a panoramic view of the ridges and valleys comprising his 100 acres causing more than one eyebrow to be raised wondering why Charlie suddenly felt the need for a house with 5 bedrooms, Jacuzzis and a 200 gallon hot water heater when he didn't have a girlfriend and didn't even date.

The first day of class was a teacher's in-service meeting. During a break the superintendent of schools brought in a new teacher to the district. They'd gotten an unsolicited government grant to fully fund a 5-year test program for Modern Languages and had been offered the contract services of a teacher who spoke 7 languages fluently. Since the 'gummint' was paying the salary and benefits for the entire 5 years it was a no-brainer for the Board to rubber stamp her application. She had 5 years teaching experience overseas at US military bases.

"Hey, Charlie, I'd like you to meet Sarah Wall, she's new this year. Thought you wouldn't mind showing her around the school and maybe the town. She's going to be teaching languages. Sarah, this is Charlie Barton, Physics and Computer Science and our resident mystery man. Charlie's a vet and still has some military obligations but we just look the other way when he leaves to do his thing. He always comes back, our Charlie."

The Superintendent leaned down and looked Charlie Barton right in the eye and said in a stiff paternal voice "Of course, if he doesn't learn to keep that Harley of his below 100mph on these mountain roads he might not be so lucky next time, right Charlie?"

Sarah Wall looked at the Superintendent. "Lucky next time? What happened the _last_ time?" She reached under the table and took his hand in hers, marveling again at the perfect fit.

"Well, to hear Chief Johnson tell it right you'd have to come down to the Wallow some night, but the Chief says old Charlie was flitting along one evening last week doing about 90 according to his radar, on the old winding road to his aerie out there in the woods when a big buck strolled out in the middle of the road right in front of him. Charlie just takes the hog off road, down the mountainside, betwixt the trees mind ye, and after about a mile or so comes out on the road where he's already been. When he passed the Chief again he was going 120 mph and grinning like the idiot he is."

Sarah looked at Charlie in wonder and under the table Sarah Walker broke a finger on her husband's hand when she involuntarily gave in to her panic. The look she gave him was a mixture of fear, dread, worry and 'wait until I get you alone, Chuck Bartowski.' That damned motorcycle was not going to rob her of 40 years of her husband. Maybe they'd get a Volvo or a minivan…

After a whirlwind courtship of less than a semester, Sarah Wall and Charlie Barton were married in a local church on New Year's Eve. Neither had any family but the wedding was well attended by the locals. Both had become very popular in the short time they'd lived in the Springs. Gifted teachers were hard to come by this far from the cities.

Charlie's Army buddy was his best man while his nemesis and best friend, Chief Johnson, walked the bride down the aisle. Her Maid of Honor was a pediatrician someone heard, who had just ended a brief marriage to another doctor in California. The sparks flew between the Chief and the Maid of Honor. Some predicted another marriage soon. And the town could always use another doctor.

When the minister said, "You may now kiss the bride" the kiss was so hot and passionate that at least one older woman swooned. She was later to be heard confiding in her 'man friend' that whoever had said that Charlie was a bit gay must have been crazy or had a touch of the vapors.

There was a final surprise for the Bride. Her husband gave her a midnight blue Porsche as a wedding present.

There was one note not mentioned at the wedding. The best man had given the newlyweds a secret present. They'd never know about it but it was for them.

* * *

**US Government High Security Detention Center  
Location Unknown**

"Prisoner Beckman, you have a visitor."

"That will be all, Officer. I'll speak with her alone, please."

After the guard had left and secured the door, Bryce Larkin, Deputy Director of the NSA, took a seat across from the once haughty woman.

"And who might you be?"

"I have some photographs to show you, Diane. I thought you should see the outcome of your handiwork." He slid large envelope across the table to her. "You can take these back to your cell, Diane, and look at them as long as you like. They're yours to keep. You can reminisce over your accomplishments and see visual proof of your success."

"Have a nice day, Diane."

US Government High Security Detention Center  
Location Unknown

Prisoner Beckman was returned to her cell. Once the Officer had secured her door she sat on her bunk and opened the envelope and removed the 8X10 color photographs. Photographs of the wedding party of a man she knew as Chuck Bartowski and his bride, CIA Agent Sarah Walker. As she looked at each of the photos she noticed that her fingertips were becoming numb and that she was becoming short of breath. She looked at the final photograph of 'The Kiss' as it had become locally known. She started to tear the photos in half but couldn't move a muscle.

The contact poison was absorbed through her skin and would evaporate from the photographs within minutes, untraceable. She would live seven long minutes, unable to blink, speak, move and finally not able to breathe. And during those last few minutes before her heart stopped she would know that you couldn't force Chuck Bartowski to break a promise made to Sarah Walker Bartowski and expect anything other than hellfire and defeat.

|END|


End file.
